


In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

by sallyjay4



Category: Freddie Mercury - Fandom, Music RPF, Queen (Band), classic rock - Fandom
Genre: 1977, Bohemian Rhapsody, Camelot, Cats, DC Comics References, Danger, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship/Love, Futurama References, Gen, Harley Quinn - Freeform, Joker - Freeform, Lies, M/M, Marvel References, Misunderstandings, Monty Python, Music, My First AO3 Post, Mystery, Original Character(s), Pets, Psychological Warfare, References to Drugs, References to Monty Python, References to the Beatles, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, Science Fiction, Seventies, Slow Romance, Star Trek References, Star Wars References, Time Travel, Tragedy/Comedy, True Love, We Will Rock You, king arthur - Freeform, vaudeville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-06-21 10:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 86
Words: 291,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15555873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyjay4/pseuds/sallyjay4
Summary: Worried she'll fail psychology and ruin her GPA, a young college girl named Julia agrees to be the guinea pig for a secret experiment - and accidentally winds up in 1977 with none other than her obsession, Freddie Mercury.  (Shocker, right?)  Her only wish is to get back home, but in the meantime she uses this impossible chance to really discover the man beneath the mask.  And gets much more than she bargained for.  This is her story.





	1. Before I Start...

Hi there.

My name is Julia Samuels.  When what I'm about to tell you happened, I was twenty years old and studying psychology at the university which I shall leave nameless for privacy reasons.  No university would dare champion a student willing to make so public a fool of herself AND oust them while doing so.

I was ordinary.  I want this to be perfectly clear.  I was as basic as a potato, and almost just as boring.  I followed the rules.  My grades were good.  I went to church.  I didn't drink.  I didn't partake in mind-altering substances.  My hair was its natural light brown; my eyes were as hazel as they have always been; I stood at an average five-five.  I was neither overweight nor underweight.  I tried to be nice to everyone, regardless of what I thought of them.  My family, with one (at that time) exception, lacked any interesting peccadilloes.  We were private people- and that's how we like it.  

I repeat, for the sake of emphasis, and it's as true now as it was then: ain't NOTHING special about me, and where I come from.

But I am a lightning rod.

Things happen to us, me and my family.  I don't know what it is.  But we are put places, the right places- or wrong places, depending on how you look at it- to say or do a certain thing and make a world of difference.  Not that I cause trouble.  I just wind up being a lot of trouble in the end, and I guess you could say that's about the same thing.  I have made a lot of enemies and few friends carrying on this hereditary responsibility of feather-ruffling and pot-stirring.  

But I wouldn't know any other kind of life.  It's always the same old thing: whenever opportunity knocks, even if it looks to get ugly from the beginning, there's no resisting that urge to fling open the door and shout "Lay it on me, man!"

All that said, there is absolutely no explaining what happened to me.  To him.  To us.

I wasn't prepared for it.  I know HE didn't see it coming.  

All I can tell you, at this point, is, if you take nothing away from my tale, know this: Be careful what you wish for.

Because I wasn't.  I was flip.  I was ignorant.  And I was heartless.

And look what a mess I made...

 

 


	2. It's Late, It's Late, It's Late- But Not Too Late

Up and down, up and down, my eyes moved, shifting from my phone to the wall clock. A check of the news, then a look at the time. I drummed my fingers against the desk, half-listening to my teacher rattle off a few rules about the Spanish conditional subjunctive or some such stuff. Then back to news, then time. News, time. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Geez. How long before this class ended and we could get to the good stuff?

No sooner had I thought it than the minute hand struck the 12:50 mark. Next stop, psychology.

It was a muggy Monday afternoon at the university. Late November, yet it felt nothing like autumn. But that's what you get in a place like Texas. Nothing to expect but the unexpected. 

Luckily, today was one of my short days. One more class - and my favorite one to boot - and I would be on the road again heading home.

"You say you love me," I sang under my breath, "and I hardly know your name..." I walked briskly out into the clammy air, careful not to let my flats tread into the ever-present muddy patches between me and the University Union halfway across the campus.

I reached the Union with five minutes to spare, but as I entered I still forced myself not to look at the vending machines with all their glorious crap on display. I hadn't eaten anything since seven, and I'm always hungry anyway; even suspicious-looking cinnamon rolls in greasy clear packages look appetizing with those sorts of stats. 

My will won against my stomach for once,and I made straight for the Mycento Hall. One push of the double doors, a few hasty steps upward, and soon I was perched in my usual spot, my lone seat apart from the other two hundred students (give or take another hundred depending on whether or not an exam is scheduled), ready for lecture. 

I took no notes. I didn't usually anyway. But this time, I found myself zoning in and out for most of the class. I had been doing that more and more lately, the nearer Christmas Break drew. I loved psychology, don't get me wrong. Nothing excited me more than learning about the inner workings of the mind, unearthing the deepest, most hidden crevices of the human soul. 

Correction. No thing may have excited me like that. But I did not say no one. 

We all have our own guilty pleasures. He was mine. And who is HE, you ask? My boyfriend? Puh-leeze. Never had one. I have had plenty of imaginary friends, few real ones. Same goes for significant others. That's what you get for being a lightning rod. 

But I liked it like that. People are messy. I didn't mind being around them, but I didn't necessarily want to get involved with them and live in their lives. It's like a zoo. Study the animals, care for the animals, love the animals from a distance. I didn't want to get down in the hippopotamus pen and drink from their water hole just to able to say I was sharing in their experiences.

Hey, I like that. I think I'll use that. 

But who was HE?

HE was a dead guy. A very complicated dead guy. And I've talked about him, laughed about him, thought about him, dreamed about him enough to the point I shouldn't have to say his name, although it's an exceptional name. An exceptional name for an exceptional man. 

Such pressing thoughts as these floated in and out of my head.

And then I realized I was in some serious trouble.

While I daydreamed, my professor reminded us all of a big piece of our grade: research credits. This is where we pysch students must participate in research studies in order to have experience on both sides of the two-way mirror.

This wouldn't even matter, except I forgot to sign up for any study.

I pried open my laptop and searched the research credit website for a few online studies to do, but all of them were expired. And then, my professor spoke those fatal words, and my heart sank.

"Don't forget. You're supposed to have all ten credits in by tomorrow, like it said in the syllabus. They count as one full third of your final grade."

Bye-bye, 4.0 GPA.

But still, like an idiot resolved to make President's List for the third straight semester, I decided I would speak to the professor about it. So when class ended, I got up and marched to the front of the room. I knew it was ridiculous, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

As I approached the stage, I noticed someone sitting next to where the professor stood. I could see it was an older man who, from a distance, vaguely reminded me of Phil Collins- bald-headed, squinting eyes, beak-like nose- and even in his reclining position I could tell that my five-foot-eight professor easily towered over him. 

"...Just don't see how that's going to work, it borders on unethical," my professor was saying to him. "I mean, I hope it works, but there's no way the Board will let this thing of yours get any attention unless you find a way to test-"

The Phil Collins lookalike (the resemblance was even more striking now that I could really see his face, right down to that perpetual half-smile about the corners of his thin lips) nodded towards me, looking over my professor's shoulder. Slightly irritated, he turned to face me. 

I went too quickly. The words just fell out of my mouth. "Mr.- um, Dr. Ledford, I am the biggest idiot who ever lived, I forgot completely about the research credits, and I didn't plan two backup reports just in case, and I'm really sorry, so is there any way I can make up the points by Wednesday?"

Dr. Ledford looked at me with the weariness of a college professor having heard one excuse too many. "I'm sorry, um, what's your-"

"Julia."

"Okay. Sorry, Julia, I can't help you. You've had over two months to take care of that. It was in the syllabus. All the research studies are closed?"

"All of them. There's a few two-parters, but that won't help if I sign up today."

"Yeah. That's too bad. I wish I could help you, but the syllabus said-"

"I know, I know, the syllabus said," I conceded sadly. "Thanks anyway."

Throughout this whole back and forth, Dr. Ledford's friend stared thoughtfully at me. I wasn't paying much attention; I turned on my heel and headed for the door.

Well, this was just great. I wasn't angry, I was just bummed. Maintaining a 4.0 average had been one of my primary goals since enrolling into college. I didn't care about being valedictorian, I just wanted to be a straight A student. Scholarships noticed things like that; my eventual Master's in Counseling or Therapy would not pay for itself. Student loans? Ha! I'd have to donate one of my kidneys to get the money to pay THAT back before I turned forty.

So low were my spirits now that when I walked past the vending machines, I tossed my self-control to the wind. I was starving, and my grades were about to tank. That four hundred fifty calorie cinnamon roll was MINE today. I reached with defiance into my pocket and rummaged around for some change.

"Pardon me," a tremulous, slow voice cut through my focus.

I whirled, automatically apologizing, "I'm sorry," and taking a step back, to see the strange little man standing before me.

A thoughtful glint lit his small eyes. "I could not help but overhear," he said haltingly, as though he was under the influence of some powerful narcotic. "You are in some sort of credit trouble?"

I blinked. "Um, yes, I uh, forgot to do the studies, that's all. It was completely my fault, I just forgot, that darn syllabus."

"How unfortunate."

"Yeah, tell me about it." By this point, the Phil Collins charm had worn off, and now I only saw a creepy old man that had for some reason followed me out of the Hall to speak to me about my academic situation. I turned back to the machine.

But he kept talking. "That's ten whole points in your grade, isn't it?"

I shook my head. "Twenty."

"Twenty whole points?"

"Two-zero." I made number signs with my hand. "Tomorrow, I'll have a C in Psychology and there's nothing I can do about it."

I had the coins in my hand, about to slide them into the machine. And then he said, "What if there WAS something you could do?"

"That would be wonderful," I replied, half-listening. "I'd do anything to fix it."

"Anything?"

Something in his voice changed, and it frightened me. I don't know why. Maybe I had a premonition of what was to come.

But instead of ignoring him, I turned and looked him directly in the eye. "Anything," I said firmly.

His less-than-beautiful face split into a warm grin. "Then, I may just have a solution for you, Miss-?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm Julia Samuels," I said, putting my hand forward. 

Which he seized enthusiastically. "Charmed. I'm Dr. Steven J. Kurtzweil. You can call me Dr. K." This he punctuated with a friendly wink.

"So, a solution, eh?" I sighed, folding my arms. "What exactly did you have in mind?"


	3. A Brave Little Volunteer

"I'll give you all the details later," Dr. K replied. "Now, I must go. I must prepare the experiment."

"Don't I get at least some idea what I'm about to do?" I complained.

"It's worth twenty points," he said. "Perhaps more. I'm good friends with your professor. Is that sufficient enough?"

"I guess," I grumbled.

"Meet me in the Physical Sciences building in three hours," was all Dr. K would offer as explanation. "Oh, and don't eat anything till then. I'll need you as minimally massive as possible."

That last, I definitely didn't understand. Certainly didn't sound to me like any psychology study. Unless, of course, this mysterious Dr. K was one of those archaic barbarians, a follower of those psycho (not psych, but psycho) science pioneers who waterboarded their patients, sent powerful electric shocks through their bodies, and then locked them up in insane asylums when none of their treatments worked.

Good grief, I said to myself. I could be selling myself to a maniac, for twenty frickin' points. Is it worth it?

It couldn't be that bad, I tried to convince myself. Scientists aren't like they were in the old days. They have a code of ethics now. They wouldn't just mercilessly tamper with innocent young college kids for the fun of it.

I burst out laughing. Now, THAT was funny.

Whatever my doubts, however, I stuck around the campus another three hours. I found a little nook in the library, where I played my music full blast and did some homework, singing along with the exceptional dead guy as I went.

Okay, okay. I'll stop calling him that. But in those days, that's how I referred to him. I felt the need to constantly remind myself of how ridiculous I was being, obsessing for (by that point) seven years over a wild and crazy rock star who, if alive today, was old enough to be my grandfather.

That was my version of self-therapy: perpetually telling myself, "Freddie Mercury isn't alive anymore, get yourself a real boyfriend, you wouldn't be his type anyway."

Oops! Guess I let the cat out of the bag. But there it is. Of course, we've all got something, some little bitty neurosis causing mischief in the mind. Mine materialized as the dark, complicated man whom I spent seven years of my life studying just to get some raw hint of what made him tick. Is that weird? Don't answer the question, I'll only get mad.

I did indeed find all the members of Queen interesting. But there were degrees. Roger was on the bottom of my list. 

I may have just made some people angry. Don't get me wrong, in his prime he was extremely pretty, but he always struck me as nothing more than a handsome face with fantastic rhythm, as someone without any real substance behind the blue eyes. And it would be a sin not to respect Brian May and the countless things he excels at- science, guitar, stereoscopy, astrophysics, songwriting- but I just could never get really excited about him. Maybe it's the badger thing. I don't know.

John came second. I loved how normal he was. He seemed very sweet and easy-going, but even he had hot buttons, and when he wrote hit songs, they were absolute grand slams. But the most fascinating and most deliciously mysterious bloke of them all, the Freddie himself, captured my imagination far more than the rest combined.

I was not in love with him. Do understand. People can be obsessed without being emotionally attached. I admired him, though, immensely. He opened the doors for many of the arty things I still enjoy in life, whether it's drawing or teaching myself the guitar. I'm not very good, but I enjoy them. I suppose I could even say he's what sent me into psychology. 

Yes, I want to help people work out their problems, that goes without saying, but examining every word in every interview, heeding every little vocal inflection, watching his eyes go flat every time he walked onto the stage yet noting well how nicely they sparkled when he was off and relaxed- I knew that if I could just get the hand of the psychological tools, I could use those powers to at last complete the multifaceted person I believed him to be. Past all the secondhand accounts, past all the iffy facts, past all the fame-mongering retreads who milk their relationships with him every chance they can. I wanted to know who he really was inside. 

And once that happened, I just knew in my heart of hearts, I would be freed of my obsession. But since he was gone for good, I had nearly resigned myself to the idea that the last seven years had been spent in a wild goose chase.

Freddie and I were crooning about our melancholy blues when I saw I had better pack it up and head toward Mr. K, and whatever lay waiting for me there. Shrugging, I turned off the music, but I kept singing under my breath while I trekked up the stairs. 

It was cooler outside now than that afternoon, much more autumnal. With every step I started to wonder whether what kooky Dr. K had in store really would be worth the grade. My stomach began to churn, my hands to tremble. What was I about to get into here? That same feeling at the vending machine washed over me, but stronger. Turning tail and running, driving straight home and pulling the covers over my head sounded increasingly more practical. And I almost did.

Except as soon as I had made up my mind to do it, I had pushed the Physical Science building doors apart, and there was the gnome-like Dr. K, sitting before me, twiddling his thumbs. 

"Ah, Julia! you've come!" He said. "Follow me, please."

"Wait, um," I stammered, "I'm not sure about this."

He studied me with marked disappointment. "Scared, already?"

He was appealing to my ego and desire to be brave and adventurous. But I asked, in a meek little voice, "Dr. K, just tell me one thing."

He stood, waiting.

"Will it hurt?"

Dr. K smiled that disarming smile again. "Of course not, you silly girl. You won't feel a thing. Now come along- if you dare!"

Half-reassured, I did as he commanded. He led me to the elevator, and we both got in. I watched him carefully, still partly waiting for him to break into "Sussudio" at any second.

He pushed the basement button, and held it down even after the doors closed. I looked over at the floor indicator, saw the basement initials flash, and then keep going.

My heart flipped. A secret floor?

Four levels below the basement, Dr. K let go of the button. The doors slid apart, revealing to us a bleak white hall just like in the floors above, except here there lived an unsettling silence. A chalky, chemical odor stifled the air. Our footsteps were the only sound, the clack-clack of our shoes leaving lonely echoes behind. 

"This is where the dangerous deeds are done, I suppose?" I joked.

"A few," was the distracted reply. I didn't say anything else.

Further down, a very professional-looking scientist, right down to the proverbial lab coat, rounded the corner and was heading our way.

"This is our brave little volunteer?" he said.

Dr. K, nodded, and introduced me. The new scientist smiled politely. "Fantastic. Now, Julia, if you could please take a few minutes and fill these forms out for me. Purely routine stuff, informed consent, a rundown of your physical condition, a small questionnaire, a few forms of release..."

"Release from what?" I asked.

"In case something should happen to you while you are gone, we don't want to be held responsible."

Please, whatever you do, don't sugarcoat it, I can handle it, I muttered to myself.

But I took the forms and started doing as I was asked. And there were some crazy questions in there, too: "Are you good at hiding yourself away?" and "Do you keep secrets well?" and my favorite, "Do you ascribe to conspiracy theories of any sort?"

I answered them as best as I knew how. I filled these papers out as we continued to walk, when we stopped at two huge, industrial strength double doors. 

Before we entered, Dr. K looked at me solemnly. "Now this is extremely important," he said. "Are you good at taking notes?"

"Yes, very," I lied. Then something Dr. Christopher (peering closer at his coat had determined his name) said hit me again. "Wait a minute. While I'm gone? Where am I going?

"Stop, stop, stop. Okay? Hold on. What is going on? What are you going to do to me? I'm not going anywhere until you tell me."

Dr. C sighed and glared at Dr. K. "Didn't you tell her anything?"

"Put yourself in my place," Dr. K protested, as much as anyone can who sounds like John Malkovich. "There is no way to explain it that doesn't sound crazy. She has to be shown, not told."

"Shown what?" I was getting very tired of asking the questions that nobody cared enough to answer.

But this time, Dr. K laid his hand against the steel-plated door, and, with a subtle wink, he whispered, "You are about to make history, my dear."

He pushed the doors open. What I saw sprawling about the hexagonal room within took my breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers. If you are asking yourself "IF THIS IS FANFICTION, WHERE'S THE BAND?" I'm getting there. You are not being Rick-rolled- or shall I say, Queen-rolled. But there is some lead-up, as you can see! :) Bear with me, stick it out, Freddie shall rear his pretty head before you know it.


	4. What Does THIS Button Do?

"Surely you can understand, why we'd really prefer you stay mum about this place's existence," Dr. K said casually. "Most of the students on campus who aren't med or dedicated psych students such as yourself know nothing about it."

I wasn't listening very closely. Too interested was I in the huge six-sided room. The walls shone in immaculate stainless steel glory on one side; on the other, LED screens glared with incomprehensible data. The light seemed to come from all directions and bounced off of everything, giving the room a distinctly mirror-like feel. People mingled busily about, tireless as worker bees, yet they were silent. No excited chatter, no droning of status reports or whatever, nothing. Seemed the computers were doing more talking than the people, what with the clicks and the taps and the beep-beeps coming from everywhere.

"What is this place?" I murmured.

"This," Dr. K said, "is where all the really magical stuff happens, so to speak."

"But this isn't even a science school. It's a liberal arts college!"

"All the better a location to put an experimental base underneath, no?"

It was then I noticed a huge depression in the middle of the floor. I drew as near as I could, to see the floor slope down around twenty feet in a cone shape, coming to a stop in the middle where stood what looked like some kind of cylindrical space pod from old sci-fi films. 

"What's that down there?" I whispered.

He beamed proudly. "That's the little monster you'll very soon be making friends with," Dr. K said. "We call her the TRDS-14K2. For short, she's just-"

"Don't tell me," I interrupted. "Tardis!"

Dr. K stared at me. "What?"

"Tardis! You know, like in that Doctor Who... show... um. Never mind."

"Oh. Well, actually, we just call her T-Rod for short. I don't know why. We just do."

I looked up, and was startled to see a kind of observatory booth, where a few intense, sharply dressed men and women sat enclosed all in glass like a rectangular fishbowl. A couple of the faces I half-recognized from the news.

"Who are they?" I asked. 

"Those are some of our benefactors," Dr. K. answered. "Good Lord, you are full of questions!"

Oh, right, sorry, I forgot I'm supposed to be a mute little lab rat, I grumbled to myself. God, I wish I had been more on the ball and just signed up for those dumb studies- the normal, boring correlation ones, not an experiment, certainly not the kind you expect a superhero to walk out of.

He looked at his watch. "Here, we'd better get a move on, get you ready. We're going to start this thing up in five minutes. George doesn't like to wait."

He looked me over, and nodded. "It will do. It's a good thing you're wearing such nondescript clothes. You could fit in anywhere. No one will suspect."

I glanced down at my black turtleneck and jeans. "Um, thanks-?"

Dr. K led me over to a table and had me open my backpack. I thought maybe he would rummage through it, take some stuff out "to hold on to" perhaps, but instead he started stuffing things in, explaining each item as he went.

"Where you're going, there won't be any mobile signal, so your smart phone's IQ is going to drop a hundred points at least," he said. "In order to communicate with us, use this."

He handed me an old Nokia phone. It was a true relic, with a green monochromatic screen and the useless stubby antenna protruding from one side. The thing had to be about twenty years old. I stifled a smile.

Dr. K could read my thoughts as they showed on my face. "Go on and laugh, you are going to love that thing later. We've modified it so that for a certain amount of time -still not sure how long- we can reach you and we can keep each other up to date.

"And this," he went on, "is your official log. Whatever you can't fit into the verbal time window, write down here. You say you're a good note taker. Let's see how good. Everything you see, everything you do, everybody you talk to, goes in here. This is very important. Understand?"

I nodded, wondering what I would find at the end of this rainbow- and who it was wanted to know as well. I looked back up at the fishbowl. 

"And for the last," Dr. K concluded, "your round-trip ticket." 

He held up his hand. Between his fingers dangled a necklace, and from the end hung an oddly shaped pendant about the size of a quarter. There was a button on one side, though a subtle one, so that the necklace didn't seem like the distant relative of a Life Alert. Within the white wafer, a small LED light glowed a dull yellow. He placed it round my neck and told me not to take it off under any circumstances.

"See that color there?" Dr. K said. "That means it's inactive. It'll stay that way until you go. When it glows green, that means we're locked onto your signal and ready to bring you back in. When light is blue, we know where you are, and we can talk on the phone here, we just can't do anything about it. Red means you're out of range, and out of our sights."

"Green means go, blue means talk, red means I'm on my own. Simple enough. How long am I going to be- uh, out there?" I still hadn't the faintest what was about to happen.

"Not long," Dr. K assured me. "At least an hour. At most, two. In the notebook I gave you are specific instructions to follow once you're there. If my calculations are correct, you won't have to go too far."

All the same, I whipped out my smart phone to send a message to my family in case they might worry. But signal couldn't reach that far under the ground; the message failed every time I tried to send it. I'd have to wait till it was all over, I supposed.

Suddenly a PA system screeched to life. All activity in the room stopped. Dr. C's voice (who had slipped up into the fishbowl- I suppose he was the emcee of the experiment) crackled over the speakers. "All right, we might as well get started, this young woman's got to be home in Dallas before supper."

He waited as we politely chuckled before continuing, "Systems operational, team?"

"Operational and optimal, sir," someone called back.

"Perfect," Dr. C said. "Let's open her up."

Someone tapped around on a touch screen. It was quiet enough to hear their finger squishing against a panel. My body tensed. Dr. K patted my shoulder and smiled a You'll-do-great smile. And T-Rod hissed below as its dome-top hinged open.

Whoever designed this unconventional beast had been thoughtful enough to provide a stairway. When the machine was fully open, Dr. K gestured that it was time. I can't begin to describe how nervous I was. I couldn't move, my feet paralyzed with what-ifs and maybes as I stared back at that capsule into the unknown. 

"We are waiting, Miss Samuels," Dr. C cajoled from above.

Only one thing could get me moving. So I did it. It was ridiculous, but there was no other way.

I began whistling "Killer Queen." The purposeful march tempo, the sashaying tune, that piercing voice in my head pulled me out of the swamp. I closed my eyes, and let the music play. I hoisted my backpack upon my shoulder. Down I went.

By the time the song finished, I'd seated myself comfortably in the hard chair at the bottom. I clenched my hands together in anticipation. Dear God, please get me out of this one piece, I prayed.

Someone threw a switch or something like that; the walls of the cylinder began to close around me. Everything seemed so far away, so high above the hole where I was trapped. Dr. K.'s face peering down was the last thing I saw, as the gap up top grew smaller and smaller, till all that was left was a pinprick of fluorescent light, and then nothing but the screens and scales within the capsule itself.

"Capsule is secured," crackled a voice. There was a speaker inside with me. 

"Okay, let's do it. Fingers crossed, everybody," said someone else.

"You all right in there, Julia?" Dr. K called. "Push the red button on the console in front of you if there's anything else you have to say."

My palsied hand did as it was told. "I'm all right," I squeaked. Which wasn't true. I wanted to throw up. 

But they didn't need to know that.

"Thanks again, Dr. K," I whispered. "I sure wasn't expecting this today."

From then on, I heard a barrage of foreboding announcements:

"Commencing coordinate installation."

"Location of touchdown locked."

"Chronological adjustments complete."

I shut my eyes. The humming sound I had instinctively ignored grew louder. It was about to happen. And I had no idea where I was going, or who would be there to greet me, or if this was all just some elegant trick they were all pulling on me. 

Then, the final command:

"Dr. Christopher, execute."

I could almost see Igor throwing the switch. I screamed a little in my throat.

And then all was quiet.

I opened my eyes. The screens still glowed with their numbers and mumbo jumbo. I looked at my necklace. The light was yellow.

I reached for the button, my heart no longer in my mouth. "Did it work?"

And then, the speakers erupted into disappointed chatter.

"She's still here."

"You mean it didn't work like it-"

"Now, now, be sensible, this is the first human we've test-"

"Maybe we should try again."

"No, no, we've terrorized her enough." That was Dr. K, God bless him. "Let her go home. Come on. We need to make a few adjustments."

Not everybody felt too keen about the idea, but as the minutes passed and I sat enthroned in the claustrophobia-inducing little T-Rod, he convinced the important people at least that they needed to regroup, work out one more bug they hadn't expected.

"Okay, Julia, we'll let you go," Dr. C announced unhappily. "Lift the dome again."

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. For no reason, I felt the need to pull out my smart phone again. "I still get my twenty points, right?"

"Absolutely," Dr. K said. 

This had worn too hard on my nerves. I had to stare at a familiar face. I pulled up Google and typed the name of my obsession into the search box.

Suddenly all the screens around me went blank. I jerked up, startled. Then the one directly in front of my face took on the exact same look as my phone. 

I frowned, squinted, but it was no hallucination. There was the Google search bar, there were the words "Freddie Mercury" within it. One by one, the rest of the screens also relighted, but they said different things. 

Above and around, I heard concerned voices say something about the hatch being stuck, but I wasn't listening. One screen said, "Location." Another said, "Time." 

Cool, I thought to myself. Screen mirroring. Funny little Bluetooth connections. NOW there's signal. How weird. 

"Why isn't the computer responding?" someone outside exclaimed.

Time and location. Those must be filters for the web results, I decided. So for location, just for fun, I typed in his home address. Maybe there are pictures of him at home I haven't seen, unlikely though it is, I smiled.

"Something's happening to the coordinates!" The bedlam rose. "What's going on?"

Time? Like, what? The date of the picture? Ooh. Conundrum. Too many good pictures of him, and yet there were plenty of disturbing images that would only upset me further.

I pressed the drop-down arrow for previous searches and saw the date February 3, 1971. I did not remember ever searching for that date, but my brother had a way of hacking into my phone and searching for the craziest things. Freddie was pretty in '71, but I had a better idea.

1977\. Yes. His absolute prime. Thirty years old and beautiful. Before fame completely consumed his soul (I thought). When he was still writing good songs. No better time than that.

So, I typed into the box: "July 1, 1977." The day I picked for no particular reason, maybe because 7-1 was on my mind. Wonder what Freddie was up to that day, I thought.

"Something's happening! Shut it down!" 

I pressed Enter.

Then the room flashed, like a million cameras going off in my face simultaneously.

And the capsule went black.


	5. Aw, Dang

"What the heck was that?" I shouted. "Dr. K?"

No answer. In fact, no sound whatsoever. Utter silence.

I fumbled around blindly for the red button, the white light having borrowed my sight. But the comm link at my side was no longer there. 

It took a moment for the spots to fade from my eyes. Once they did, I saw the screens still were black, and T-Rod apparently was down for the count. I was engulfed in darkness.

I wasn't even sitting in the chair anymore. I felt around to find I was kneeling against the floor and the walls had closed in tighter. 

"Dr. K?" my voice quivered. "Anyone?"

My numb fingers slowly regained their touch (why were my senses so late in reacting?). I was kneeling against carpeting. There were fabrics hanging low over my head which I discovered when I tried standing up. My heart skipped a beat. Since when was there anything soft inside T-Rod? I ran my hands against the walls. The screens, too, had vanished, and the sterile cold chrome had roughened, so I seemed to be touching ordinary walls like those within a house.

To no one in particular, I whispered, "Where am I?"

I looked at my necklace, which was glowing red.

Oh. Crap. 

T-Rod worked.

But they were trying to get me out! They said it had a few bugs to work out! What happened? Is this what would transpire if T-Rod malfunctioned? 

And a little more importantly, WHERE WAS I?

I tried to calm myself down before I full-blown panicked. And at this rate, a meltdown wasn't too far away. Okay, think, Julia. Think. Use that noggin you're so proud of. You're obviously in a traditional building with traditional doors. Look for a knob!

"I'm going crazy. I swear I'm losing my mind," I muttered as first I felt around for cracks along the bottom. I found one and had to swallow my joyous cry. A few feet up was the brass knob. I turned it in triumph.

Something was pushed up against it- something heavy, like a trunk. Frustrated and confused, I threw my weight upon the door, forced it open, and fell out face forward in the process.

I got up and looked about. I was in a nicely decorated bedroom, the walls a soft jade green. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, a four-post bed standing beneath the window. 

"I don't like this," I said aloud. "Not one bit. Dr. K, turn that light blue soon. Better yet, let's go green and get me out of here."

I took a step back and nearly tripped over the trunk again. Angrily, I drew my foot back to kick it. 

And a split second before my foot connected with the case, three things occurred to me.

First, that I was not alone in the house, or apartment, or whatever the heck this was; as if from below I heard voices, male voices, speaking to one another in an unmistakable British lilt. Strange male voices, and I a strange young girl. 

Second, that there was a little orange tabby cat sitting in the doorway, watching me with an expression that seemed to ask "What do you think you're doing?"

Third, that I saw the writing, the names, upon the trunk. The word itself, which began with a Q, would have been shock-inducing enough, if not for that instantly recognizable crest emblazoned on the trunk's front.

Too late I tried to stop my foot's collision with the trunk.

BAM!

The voices halted a moment.

I dove back into the closet. DR. K, HELP ME!

But the Nokia in my backpack (Thank God I still had my backpack with all my stuff) remained silent. I strained to make out the words the men now spoke.

"You hear something?" a low, calm voice said.

"No," responded a much higher, raspier voice. "Did you?"

"Thought I did. Like a thud. Came from upstairs."

"It's just your nerves, dear," said a posh third voice- one which chilled my body to the bone. 

"Now I know I'm crazy," I tried to tell myself, but I was weak with confusion and hunger (it's true, if I go too long without food, I become dizzy and downright stupid, and too long for me often is only four hours- and it had been ten hours since breakfast), and wild with fear. God, this couldn't be real.

It was at this moment the throbbing red dot against my chest turned blue. I nearly fainted from relief. Clumsily I rooted about again for the Relic, and sure enough, it was ringing.

Bip-bip-bip-bip BEEP Bip-Bip-Bip BEEP Bip BEEP-

I pressed the green button on the phone (cutting short a poorly executed, bare-bones rendition of "In the Air Tonight"- no joke) and gasped, "Dr. K?"

I've never been happier to hear anything than I was when his quivery, slow voice answered, "Julia! You're okay!"

"Yes! Oh, yes!" I whispered. "Where am I?"

"I should think you'd know, you apparently sent yourself there," he replied. "Where you are, it's July 1, 1977 at about 11 at night, London time."

My mouth went dry. "You mean to say that-"

"Congratulations, Julia Samuels, you are the first human time traveler," he announced.

Dr. C didn't give me time to let that sink in. "But you didn't quite end up where we wanted, so you kinda botched it."

"What? But you guys were running the show back there!"

"Something went wrong, and you somehow got into the controls," he said. "Did you happen to be messing with your phone?"

"Yes. I did. I won't do it ever again as long as I live. Now please get me out of here!"

"That probably explains it. Signals crossed!"

"Again, I'm sorry. Bring me back!"

"We can't right now."

"Why not? We're talking, aren't we? Lock onto my signal!"

"You're slipping out of range, Julia," cried Dr. K, who did indeed sound to be shorting out. He said something else, but I couldn't hear it.

The door to the closet opened wider, and a young man peered in at me.

I snapped, "Do you mind?"

He stood there a second, then just like that he disappeared again, and I turned back to the phone. "What was that you said?"

"Bring...home yet... T-Rod... problem..."

"Well, then what am I supposed to do now?"

"...Stay hidden... take care till next-"

Then the Relic died, and told me I'd spent sixty seconds in the phone call. Stay hidden. Okay. I could do that. Easy.

Except I'd already blown my cover.

The young man had seen me! What an idiot I was! There was no question about me, the intruder, now!

I listened with baited breath, tried to ignore the cat now sitting on top of the trunk and staring at me through the closet doorway ("Scat!" I told it, knowing what cat dander does to my nose).

The high voice spoke. "What gives, John? You look like you've seen the dead."

The young man replied, in squeaky, nasal tones, "No, not quite."

"Not quite, eh?" That frightening third voice again. "Well, then, what did you see?"

A sigh. "Oh, nothing. I just wasn't expecting to see her, is all. Just startled me a bit."

"Yeah, Tiff does that, she'll just jump out of nowhere, sorry. I have cat acrobats."

"No, no, not the cat. The girl."

"The girl?"

"There's a girl upstairs in your closet."

Oh, God. I was dead. Loony and dead. 

A long pause from the third voice. "What?"

"There's a girl up there. Didn't you know?"

Another long pause. Then, sudden thunder as four men ran up the stairs heading my way. I acted quickly. In five seconds I'd slid myself under the bed, becoming completely invisible by the time I saw the first foot come into view.

"In there," John (no, not Deacon, I refused to even entertain the idea that it could be John Deacon) said, as calmly as if he was reporting the weather.

A pair of white shoes picked their way daintily across the carpet and stood before the open closet. Their owner pushed some clothes around. Two other pairs of feet -one in clogs, the other in sneakers- followed into the bedroom.

"There's no one here, Deacy," said the third voice in its singsong style. 

I shut my eyes. Deacy? Really? This was not happening. Except it was.

"What was that all about?" asked Mr. Clogs.

"John here saw a mirage, I think," he answered. 

"I dunno, maybe I did," John conceded. "But no mirage I've ever seen looked up at me and said 'Do you mind?' before."

"There's a first time for everything," the high voice in sneakers teased. 

I was holding my breath, partly so they wouldn't hear me, but also because the orange cat had slid under the bed and sidled right up to my face. That's the best thing about cats. They know instinctively who's allergic to them and proceed to make their lives miserable by coming close enough to get the eyes watering and the throat itching. So it was now. 

"Shoo, shoo!" I mouthed at it, but all it did was meow contentedly. The men, however, didn't seem to notice and they walked back out laughing at poor John's expense. The last pair of feet to vanish were the white ones; they stood quietly facing the bed a couple of minutes, before slowly waltzing back to the lower floor.

I took a deep breath. That was close.

I listened in again, and frowned as I heard them all decide to call it a night, each of them tell the others "We'll work it all out at Wessex," before slipping out the door. Now there were only three voices. And now, just two. John and the posh fellow.

"Sorry about that back there," John was saying. "I just know I saw somebody. Heard someone talking. I dunno."

"Don't worry about it, dear," he replied. "Sometimes our heads play tricks. My God, that happens to me all the time. You're not crazy, don't worry. Now, me? That's another story. Say hi to Veronica for me."

"I will. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, John."

The door closed.

The world was quiet. Far too quiet. And the cat was still staring at me.

And in this weak moment of deafening silence, when so much as a foot falling upon a rug could be heard from any part of the flat, I half-sneezed before catching myself. But at first it seemed no use.

For here came the footsteps. Up, up, up they went. My heart pounded in my ears. I was too hungry to fear anymore, and too tired to scream. I just waited for him to lower the boom.

Before too long, the white shoes returned. The air thickened with anticipation. One foot tapped impatiently.

"Come on out, darling, I know you're here," he sang. 

I didn't move. My throat was itching like crazy, but I stayed under.

"John saw you himself, you think you can hide from me?" he said wryly. "I'll find you, I will. Might as well turn yourself over now!"

At Daddy's command, the cat wormed its way back into the light and rubbed up against his legs.

"Not you, Oscar, the phantom!" He laughed. "A year I've lived here, I didn't know this flat was haunted."

He had a laugh that just rolled out effortlessly. He was just joking around now, laughing to himself. He didn't think there was anyone here, certainly no one hiding. Somehow it relaxed me, but I still couldn't move. What if he should find out the phantom actually lurked under the bed?

"Hello! What's all in this bag?" He bent down into the closet, reached for my backpack. "Let's have a lo-"

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" I cried, before I could stop myself.

He whirled. "What the f---?"

"Sorry," I corrected myself. "Don't touch that, please."

In one smooth motion he dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt.


	6. You Knew My Name On Sight... Right?

 

I covered my face, saying, "Okay, you got me, you got me, you win.  Just please don't shout at me or call the cops, all right?  Because I really couldn't handle that right now."

He remained silent, then after a short eternity, he cleared his throat.  "Why don't you come out from under there?"

His voice, while still musical, gave signs of neither amusement nor anger.  And gray areas are the most frightening of all.

But to hide anymore was absolutely farcical.  Slowly, I started to push myself out from under the bed.  Dust had collected nicely within my nostrils, and dust wasn't any sweeter to me than cats; by now I'm sure I looked like a swollen-eyed tomato, a frail allergic reaction covered in gray dust fuzz.  What a great first impression to present to Freddie Mercury.

Despite my appearance, I was thinking much more clearly than before.  _Thank God I'm at least wearing lipstick; some days I'm not so lucky._ I glanced down at my passport, its constant light beam giving me courage.  I must be strong, I told myself.  Mustn't let him think he has any power over me.  

I lifted my chin, sneezed, and looked Freddie directly in the eye.  Not an easy thing to do, I might add.  Have you ever seen him?  The 1977 version (or any version) of Freddie?  God, what a face.  Those high cheekbones, that aristocratic nose, that wicked chin.  And those eyes.  Those two black hole suns, drinking in everything with the briefest of glances.  If you stared too long into them, they drank you in as well.

"So John wasn't hallucinating after all," Freddie said.  "Well!  I've heard of fans going to extremes, but this is ridiculous."

I squinted because my eyes were starting to ache.  Stupid cats.  Blearily I asked, "What?"

"Fans like you, going overboard."

"Fans?"

"Look, I know you love us, really, darling, but don't you think that breaking into my flat's a little much?"

"Love you?  Ha.  I don't even know you," I said absently, rubbing my face.  I sneezed again.  

That seemed to jar him.  My words, not the sneeze.  "Don't know me?"

"Uh-uh."  And it was true, what I was telling him. I didn't know him in the sense of an acquaintance, or a friend.

"But- but you don't _really_ expect me to believe that, do you?" Freddie asked.  

All of a sudden, I realized what was going on here.  There was a reason he was so taken aback.  Freddie wasn't talking about me not knowing him; he was looking at it in terms of, me not knowing _who he was_.  And in 1977, when Queen were rapidly cementing themselves as permanent fixtures in music history, the idea of someone not recognizing him was likely enough to send him to the moon!  
  


An idea hit me.  Here was my out.  I would not tell him that I'd all but worshiped his music all my life.  No way would I ever hint that I knew anything about his public OR private persona.  

_He's just a man_ , I told myself.  _Let him think that's all I see.  I am an unlikely intruder into his private sanctum. Nothing more. No blushing, no bashful staring at his shoes. We are equals, perfect strangers. Zero charisma, and zero recognition.  
_

So I nodded, "Yeah, I do. I don't know you from Adam. Nothing personal, I just..." I trailed off, and shrugged. "I don't know who you are.  Sorry.  I have an idea _what_ you might be, though.  Are you an artist?"

"Sort of," he said, seeming to forget I was an intruder who could at any moment slit his throat for all he knew about me.  "I used to do a bit of painting, drawings, things like that in colle- no, stop, you're stalling and I know it.  Aren't you?"

"Possibly," I half-smiled, before my face contorted for the biggest sneeze yet.

I sniffed, feeling absolutely wretched.  Oh, how I hate cats.  _Maybe he'll feel sorry for me and forget to be mad again._

"Are you all right?" Freddie asked.

I nodded, then savagely started rubbing my eyes.  "Ugh... I'm fine... it's just... dust..."

"Of course I believe _you_ ," he quipped.  He seized my hand.  "Here.  Take yourself in there, throw some cold water on your face.  Your mascara's starting to run, you'll look like a raccoon if you keep it up.  When you've gotten yourself under control, come downstairs, and we'll talk."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Eve Explains Herself

The first thing I did after closing the bathroom door was take out my contacts.  My eyes immediately stopped itching - a result I thought worth walking around half-blind the rest of the night (I'm very near-sighted).  Besides, it's much easier to lie when you can't look the person you're lying to directly in the eyes. 

All that night I don't think it fully occurred to me I was really alone with Freddie Mercury.  Because if its full weight had indeed hit me, at that time, I probably would have thrown myself at his feet begging for a selfie (and I don't ever do selfies).  Maybe I was in some kind of shock, left over from my time teleport.  Perhaps I only half-accepted everything as real, the other half thoroughly convinced it was all some elaborate dream.  

Whatever the reason, I was unusually sharp as I dried my face, my brain slamming into calm, calculating psychologist mode.

_I've told Freddie I don't recognize him.  Let's stick to that story.  I will also not know anything about Queen, be it their songs or the rest of the personnel.  I will say nothing about the future.  I will make myself as scarce as humanly possible after I explain myself to Freddie.  One wrong move and I'm jeopardizing my own future.  I'm not even supposed to be here with them, according to Dr. K.  Wonder where I was designated to arrive at first?  No matter.  I'm here now, but God willing not for long._

For the sake of brevity, I made myself a mental list.  I call it Three Commandments for Time Travelers (patent pending):

1.  Be invisible.  Don't use your real name, don't draw attention to yourself, and don't photo-bomb (unless you're Forrest Gump, in which case do all three).

2.  Never talk about the future, especially the futures of specific people.  No one will believe you, even if you have proof.  

3.  Avoid people you know from your own life, and if it's absolutely necessary to interact with them, see Rules 1 and 2.

I remembered my family as I formulated Rule 3, and knew by now they must be starting to worry.  Alas and alack, the light was still red.  I turned it around and tucked it into my turtleneck so the light wasn't visible.  

"Hopefully I'll be back in range in a few minutes and they can zap me home," I said aloud.

I took a deep breath.  Right now, I had to deal with Freddie.  

So I opened the door, fresh-faced but dizzy tired, and found my way downstairs (two-story flat- very nice indeed).  Everything was a blur before my weak eyes, but even from a distance I could see another lump of brown fur curled up on the sofa- another lump that meowed and purred and tore furniture to shreds.  _This place is a frickin' mine field_ , I told myself.

"Ah! There you are," Freddie crooned, emerging from the kitchen.

I waved.  I could barely see his face; I just had to trust that his eyes were still somewhere under that thick mess of black hair, set in the tan, taut skin of his face.  

"You look better," he remarked almost with approval.  "I truly thought you were about to explode earlier, you poor thing.  Do you have your story straight?"

"No," I  said.

"Good.  That will make this even more entertaining," he said.  "By the way, have you eaten?"

Food.  Oh, yeah.  Food.  I was ravenous.  I had five minutes to live.

"Yes, I have, thank you," I forced myself to say.

"Oh?  Well, I'm a bit peckish myself, so I hope you don't mind me eating in front of you."

He had a plate of cold boiled meat in one hand.  It looked blander than plain white rice.  And yet my stomach ached.  In the other, a glass of clear liquid.  Knowing Freddie, I was fairly sure it wasn't water.

"All right, you, have a seat," he said, sobering right up and ushering me into the dining room.  I sat at one end; he walked past four chairs and positioned himself at the other end.  I felt like I was sitting before the judgement seat of God, assuming there would be tall candlesticks between me and the Lord when that day came.

He noticed it, too.  "No, this isn't going to work," he muttered, and got up again to sit right next to me.  

"Okay, Eve, I'm all ears," Freddie said, situating himself.  

I frowned.  "Who's Eve?"

"You are, of course.  Isn't that your name? Evelyn Dubroc, Eve for short?  A very elegant name indeed."

"But that's not my name."

"It is, _now_.  The way I see it, if you don't know me from Adam, then I certainly don't know you from Eve."

"Where'd Dubroc come from?"

"Does it really matter, dear?"

I shook my head and fought back the impulse to smile and add that no, nothing really matters.  I couldn't help finding this just a little funny.  "So am I supposed to call you Adam?"

"No.  You are supposed to call me Fred.  Or Freddie, whichever one."

I put out my hand.  "How do you do, Freddie."

He put his forward as well.  "Now, do you mind telling me what you were doing hiding in my closet and practically giving poor John a heart attack?"

I saw no way to approach this but with pure honesty.  Except telling this rock star that I was from the future and the victim of a time travel mishap likely wouldn't go over so well.  So I copped out with "I don't know."

He scoffed.  "Why should I believe you?"

I reached into my psychology arsenal and pulled out a concession.  "I don't see why you should.  I'm a total stranger infringing upon your privacy.  But it's the honest-to-God truth.  And truth is stranger than fiction."

"How did you do it?  Nothing's broken so far as I can tell.  How did you come in?"

"Same way everyone does," I said.  "Through the bathroom window."

A smile started; this I knew because he covered his mouth a moment.  But Freddie still tried sounding serious.  "I highly doubt that."

"It's true, Freddie.  I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know why I'm here, I don't even know where 'here' is."

"And you don't know who I am.  Which makes no sense at all!" he cried, driving a knife into the meat and sawing away.  I think he was more upset I didn't give him the respect due a star than that I'd trespassed upon his home.  "What else would make you come here?"

"Maybe I just wanted to cat burgle you," I suggested, then began to giggle.  "God knows, you have more cats than you can handle."

Freddie's mouth twitched again, and this time he let himself smile.  "Darling, that was awful."

Awful, but to my fried brain, extremely funny.  I kept giggling.  "I know, I'm tired, sorry.  But seriously.  Am I supposed to know who you are?"

He looked me over, then sighed.  "Maybe not.  You're American.  Let's put it this way.  Do you like rock and roll?"

"Just the old stuff.  I'm more of a jazz baby myself, a little Latin music now and again.  But I do like Beatles, Elvis, et cetera.  I'm not too crazy about the new rock music these days- a little too extreme, a little too overdone- oh, wait, are you that kind of a musician?" Man, I was dishing out some real whoppers tonight.

This seemed to go far in convincing him, but not necessarily in a good way.  His voice hardened with hurt pride. "I am."

"Oh, wow, I'm sorry.  And you must be pretty famous too.  I shouldn't have said that.  That's just my opinion.  I broke into your house, what could you possibly care what I think?"

Reminding him didn't help, from the way his face stiffened into that cold, marble mask he saved for the stage, the public eye.  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.  "Yes.  You did.  Why don't you leave before I decide to do something about that?"

Crap, crap, crap.  I thought quickly.  _Psych studies, don't fail me now! Be smart_!

But the best I could come up with was, in a small and extremely meek voice, "But I have nowhere to go."

And that's finally when it smacked me upside the head.  I was trapped.  My money was worthless, my ID kaput.  I had no passport.  I didn't exist yet.  I was an anomaly.  I was as helpless as a baby.  I didn't belong here screwing up things for everyone else.

And I was completely alone.  All the people who cared about me were forty years and an ocean away.  

"I have nowhere," I whispered again, more to myself than Freddie. "And I have no one."

It didn't occur to me I might seem like a drama queen trying to play on his sympathies.  The full weight of my situation hung upon me -plus my hunger and my sheer exhaustion (time travel, for future reference, takes an awful lot out of you, so when Dr. K says don't eat anything, don't listen, he's still never tried it so what does he know?)- and I sort of collapsed in on myself right there in front of him.  

"Now, Eve, you must have _some_ place to go," he said, his voice softening again.  

"I wish.  How I wish I did." I shuddered.  There were tears on the way.  I felt them climb up my throat and tighten it.  "I don't know why this happened, but I'm sorry it did.  If you want to call the police, call them.  God knows I deserve it."

I got up and walked to the stairs.  

"Where are you going?" Freddie asked.

"I'll be right back," I hoped I was lying.  _Dr. K, any time now would be GREAT._

I didn't have the energy to break down and cry.  Freddie didn't owe me his sympathy, I would not sit there and act like I wanted it.  I made one last dead wish that I was merely dreaming.  I dragged myself up to the green bedroom.  Surely I'd be back in range soon.  

I decided I would just lay there on the bed until I'd calmed down or until Dr. K brought me back.  The police wouldn't have to look very long to find me.

I picked up my backpack and climbed on top of the bed.  The light on my chest wasn't any less red than when the Relic cut off last time.  

Oscar, the orange cat, hopped up alongside me, and purred, pushing his head against mine.

My nose tickled.  "You sadist, you," I murmured.  But I ran my hand across his little head, rubbed behind his ears.  He saw this as an invitation to curl up right on top of my hair and have a snooze.

What a wonderful idea.  "Sleep.  Yes, I think I'll join you, little man.  Won't be too long now."

I closed my eyes and drifted off.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Eggs Fried for Breakfast

When my eyes half-opened the next morning, I was cozily nestled between the smooth sheets.  The sun poured gently through cracks in the curtains.  I buried my face into the pillow, forgetting that some traces of what minimal makeup I wore were still smeared upon my eyes and lips, and breathed a sigh of endless relief.  Such a nightmare.  I almost believed it, too. 

I tried to decide which was a better idea- staying in bed until I absolutely had to get dressed for work, or dragging myself to the kitchen to fix a much-needed big breakfast.  Decisions, decisions.  I rubbed my nose and sniffed, glancing at my watch as I did.  And frowned.  Why did it say it was one in the morning?  It was far too bright outside to be so early.  Darn thing had to be broken.

I realized the walls had turned green overnight.  I sat up, shifting my feet and nudging against a warm mound there at the foot of the bed.  An orange furry head with pointy ears turned and two green feline eyes stared back at me.

"Aw, man," I muttered.  I patted my chest, felt the bump of the tracker under my shirt, and fell back against the bed.  "Well, I was hopeful."

Two hours, tops, Dr. K had assured me.  Just two hours, and here it was the next day! "Steven Kurzweil, you disappoint me, dearie," I said aloud.  "It's eight, now.  Man, I slept long.  This time warp stuff must take a greater toll than I realized."

Suddenly I remembered I'd fallen asleep with my backpack in my arms.  Mildly freaking, I looked at the side of the bed and found it sitting quietly there, undisturbed, next to my shoes.  I made sure nothing was missing, and found everything in its proper place.

I frowned, slightly perplexed.  But I hadn't taken off my shoes.  Or pulled back the covers.  Or intentionally set my backpack anywhere.  And I wasn't the kind to wake up in the middle of the night and do it without being able to remember later.

_Who cares,_ I thought to myself.  _What's important is, he let me stay here for the night.  Freddie might have tucked me in for all I know.  He didn't even report me.  How nice of him.  Not many people would do something like tha-HOLY MOSES! I'M IN 1977 WITH FREDDIE MERCURY AND I ACT LIKE I'M JUST CRASHING AT A FRIEND'S HOUSE BECAUSE I DRANK TOO MUCH THE NIGHT BEFORE!  WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!?!  IT'S FREDDIE FREAKING MERCURY!!!!_ ** _F-R-E-D-D-I-E_** **_M-E-R-C-U-R-Y!_** _ **!!**_

It took a few minutes for me to calm down.  But I would be lying if I said those few minutes didn't involve me jumping around, silently screaming my head off, and generally just bouncing off the walls in a strange mix of euphoria and anticipation and madness and pent-up energy. Come on.  It had to happen sooner or later.  People only take it well the whole time when the script and the director say so.  This is reality.

However, I did at last get hold of myself, partly due to the funny look Oscar was giving me, but mostly because I was still weary with hunger.  Jumping up and down excitedly wears thin pretty quick when that's the case.  I couldn't take it anymore.  I had to eat.

So I washed my face, dragged a brush through my hair (I needed a new hairstyle, this rather ambiguous one wasn't doing it for me anymore) and put my contacts back in.  I licked my lips as my imagination laid out a beautiful breakfast spread.  Fried eggs over-medium, with bacon and either English muffins or devastatingly rich, sugary French toast, and as a triumphant finish, fresh berries with whipped cream. 

I slid the Relic into my back jean pocket.  No way would I miss a call today.  And just before I descended into the living room, I stopped at the closed door across the hall.  Quietly I leaned forward, listening for any telltale sound.  But either Freddie didn't even breathe while he slept, or he'd already gone wherever, Wessex maybe.  I was pretty sure I was alone.  Wasting no more time, I rushed down the stairs, Oscar bounding along behind me.

The lower floor was taken up by the living room, a spacious, surprisingly tasteful area, not nearly as overdone as I had assumed was customary of Freddie.  In the middle loomed that infamous black grand piano on which he'd written, and would write, so many fantastic songs.  On the walls, crystal sparkled and paintings hung.

On instinct I drew back the curtains, letting light flood the room.  A rod iron stoop just outside the front window lay waiting for someone to walk out upon it with a cup of tea and breathe in the sweet morning air, content to watch the world go by without them for a while.

But first, breakfast.

I made straight for the kitchen and rummaged shamelessly through cupboards and cabinets till I found a glass, which I filled with water and drained.  Best glass of water I've ever had, bar none.

Then I went to business.  I couldn't find any coffee, so I started a pot of tea.  Teapots eluded me in those first days.  I didn't know what the heck I was doing, and Captain Google wasn't there to rescue me this time, but I did what I could.

Sadly, there wasn't any bacon, but I did find a dozen large eggs and a packet of sausages.  If rumors were to be believed, I likely wouldn't find any sliced bread for toast.  To my surprise, I indeed found no such loaf.  _How silly can you get?_ I thought to myself.  _As a child, was he frightened by a sandwich?_

Still, I peeked around a little more, and came up with (O Joy and Rapture!) English muffins.  I was set.  I turned on the radio, and to my delight heard "The Things We Do For Love" by 10cc.  Snapping a green banana off the bunch hanging just above my head (to tide me over, of course), I went to work.

"Too many broken hearts have fallen in the ri-ver..." I sang to myself, "Too many lone-ly souls have drifted out to se-a..." as I cracked eggs and watched the sausage sizzle in the pan, but was still careful not to let it burn.  I almost felt normal.  Just another day, making breakfast for myself.  Just another morning at eight o'clock, alone in a strange man's house, who I knew but didn't know,  but that was okay since no one really knew him. 

And that was the difference.  Everyone knew who he was, but no one ever knew his heart.

And then the crazy idea struck.  I thought of how dumbfounded Freddie had been when I didn't recognize him at all, how his head had almost exploded.  No one, it seemed to me, ever got a good look at the actual man, because they were so blinded by the persona he wanted them to see- and therefore, the person they learned to expect. 

But I didn't know who he was, as far as he was concerned.  And that took away some of the pressure.  Didn't it?  At least it gave someone like me a greater chance.

For the first time, I saw my mistaken trip here for the opportunity it offered.  _This is good stuff,_ I told myself.  _For whatever time frame I have to stay here, why don't I make use of it?  Why don't I try my hand at him?   I've always wanted to._

I bit into the banana.  But again, that was worst-case scenario- and assuming Freddie would let me stick around.  I shouldn't be worrying, I decided, but my confidence was weaker than last night's.  Dr. K would pick me up long before I could get any traction in that way.  I'd just have to take it one moment at a-

"Are you still here?" Freddie's nonchalant voice cut through. 

My blood flowed all the way down into my feet.  I turned, and there he was leaning against the door frame, arms folded.  With my contacts on, I could see everything, down to the curve of his large, contorted mouth.  But his eyes were much friendlier than earlier.  This gave me courage.

I smiled at him.  "Good morning."

"Hello," he said with a small wave.  He strode forward, surveying the goings-on with profound authority.  "I see you've made yourself at home."

I took another bite of banana.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Freddie.  I was dying."

"Apparently," he agreed.  How anyone could look so fresh boggled my mind.  Freddie was clean shaven, his hair fluffed to perfection.  Few people can make a simple T-shirt and slacks look stylish, especially if they are as short-waisted and long-limbed as Freddie.  But he managed. 

"You didn't report me," I said.  "Thank you."

"Yeah, well, don't get too complacent," he informed me.  "I might today."

"Why didn't you last night?"

"Now, really, Evie dear.  What was I supposed to do, with you looking so pathetic and so alone?  To kick you out in the dead of night?  What kind of monster do you take me for?"

"I don't know what I take you for," I said.  "All I know is, you were nice enough to let me stay- and you tucked me in, which was really very sweet-"

"Oh, I didn't do that.  That was Oscar."

"Really?  Took off my shoes and everything?  That's very impressive for a cat.  Just by looking at him, I never would have guessed he had opposable thumbs."

He nodded solemnly.  "Indeed.  It's one of his better kept secrets."

This smile I let show, but only briefly.  I turned back to breakfast and called over my shoulder, "So!  You hungry?"

"I could force a bite or two down, I think." 

"That's good.  Nothing worse than eating alone."

"I can think of a few things, actually-"

"Yeah, I bet you can.  Anyway, I'm making English muffins, and sausage-"

"You mean crumpets, don't you?" he interrupted me.

"What?"

"Those are called crumpets, Miss America."

_Oh, of course. Because "English muffin" would sound silly._

"That, too. Anyway, uh, where was I?"

"Sausage."

"Oh, right. One more thing, how do you like your eggs?"

He looked at me with a funny gleam in his eyes- one I learned to look for in most conversations thereafter.  Because it was a warning of the abject, wonderful idiocy which would follow.

Freddie said, "Who wants to know?"

"Me."

He shook his head.  "I."

"You?"

"No, no, I was correcting you.  You said, 'me.'  That wasn't right.  You meant, I.  It is, 'I' want to know.  'I' is correct."

"I is correct?  Don't you mean, I _'am'_ correct?"

"No.  I is correct.  I is what is used in that context.  Who wants to know?  I do."

This discussion began seeming more and more like the script of a vaudeville act. "You?"

"Yes.  No!  You!"

"Me?"

"Yes.  But you mean I.  Not 'me.'"

"Oh."  I was confused, so I shrugged.  "Whatever."

Freddie rolled his eyes and sighed. "You killjoy Yanks."

Suddenly I realized he'd just been messing with me.  I'm really not that dense.  I learn.  This was a game I got much better at later. 

But for now I popped back, "You Limey Grammar Nazis.  How do you like your eggs?"

"Who wants to know?"

I held up my egg spatula like it was a bejeweled scepter.  "Eve Dubroc, Queen of the Kitchen!  That's who!"

(I was punchy.  Cut me some slack.)

"I like my eggs," Freddie answered, "like I like my women."

This was a road I didn't feel like treading.  "Okay.  Forget how you like them.  How do you want them?"

"How are you cooking yours?"

"Over medium.  Fried."

"That sounds great."

"I thought so, too."

"Don't you want to know how I like my women?"

"Not really.  No.  Thanks."

He nodded.  "That's fair."

"Good. Would you please do me a favor and pull the English muffins out of the ov-"

"Crumpets!"

"Okay, yeah, the crumpets, could you please get them out of the oven for me?  They look a little toasty and I don't want them to burn..."

 

 


	9. Here's the Deal

"I'm on to you, darling," he said at last.

I turned to look at him.  "How so?"

Freddie dabbed delicately at his lips with his napkin. "I know what you're doing.  Don't think I don't see it."

We were sitting across from each other in the kitchen, as the dining room seemed just a bit too pretentious for our purposes.  Both of us had just finished a lovely breakfast, if a fast one.  Freddie seemed to be in a hurry- perhaps because he was due at the studio and the boys were waiting for him.   It also meant we more or less ate in silence, which never became too awkward thanks to the constant hum of the radio.  I'd like to think Freddie enjoyed my cooking, considering how much he had to eventually put up with it.

I sipped my tea.  "That's as may be, I still don't know what you're hinting at."

"You're a very clever girl, making me breakfast and all."

"Must one be clever, to make breakfast?"

"It's the intent behind it.  Making yourself useful and thus indispensable to me."

I pretended to pout.  "I was hungry.  And anyway, it was the least I could do to thank you for being so kind last night."

"True, I was very nice," Freddie agreed.  "One of my best qualities, I think."

I rolled my eyes.  "Yup.  Right up there with your modesty."

"I might have been nic _er_ to you, though," he said.  "I just found your story a little hard to swallow.  Still do, in fact.  But I could have been a little more understanding.  It's not every day I run into a madwoman."

The gleam returned, and the corners of his mouth twitched.  I could not let that swipe go unrecognized.  

"That's okay.  It's not every day I run into a fellow with such high illusions of grandeur."  I raised my cup of tea and grinned.  "Cheers."

"I can't help it if you're uninformed," he yawned luxuriously.  "But, yes, cheers."

_Back chat, back chat_ , flashed through my head.  I made a mental note: _Always has to have the last word_.And to myself I added, _Challenge accepted.  
_

I got up and picked up our plates to put them in the sink.  "I'll wash these in a minute."

Freddie slid his chair back noisily.  "So, has your head cleared enough so you can find your way back to- um, whatever planet you've descended from?" he asked _._

I sighed.  "It would take a lot more than that to send me home." _  
_

"How do you mean?"

"Excuse me a moment," I said, then rushed up the stairs to the green bedroom _._ I pulled a few things out of my backpack, and came back down.  I was flirting with screwing with the future, but hey, hadn't I already done that? _  
_

Freddie's hands were on his hips.  I asked, "I don't want to hold you up, do you have someplace you need to be?"

"My driver should be here in about five minutes, so I've got time," he said.

"Okay.  See this?"  I showed him the Relic. " This is my only means of communication with folks back where I come from." _  
_

"What is it?"

"It's a phone."

_"_ This is a phone?"  Freddie took it in his hands, inspected it. _Wow_ , I said to myself. _If he thinks that's impressive, it's a good thing I haven't shown him my Android._

"Only problem is, it only works when this," I pulled my tracker out from under my shirt, which still pulsed bright red, "turns blue, or whenever I'm in range. And I still don't get exactly what that means.  Except that I'm not in range right now, which is awful, but it's out of my hands.

"To top it off, I have no funds whatsoever except those packed into this friendly plastic card, which is absolutely useless here. So I'm kind of in a pickle."

Freddie was now looking at me as if he was waiting for some kind of punchline. When none came, and he realized I was serious, he took a deep breath. "And I thought I was only kidding about you being from another planet."

"I'm not.  But let's just say, I'm- not from around here."

"Could you explain what that means, exactly?"

I shook my head.  "Again, it's complicated.  I don't understand it myself."

"So far the only thing I've understood is that you haven't any money.  I'd be happy to help there-" 

"Freddie, no.  I'm not asking you for money.  The only thing I'd even think to ask is..." I trailed off.  Ask what?  What was I crashing into here?  _Shut up, Julia- or Eve, or whoever the heck I am!_

He stood waiting.  "Go on."

I looked up at him.  "Um, alright.  Here goes.  I know this is a LOT to ask.  I have no right to- to request this of you.  But the only person I know here is you.  And this is the only place I am anywhere near familiar with.  So..."

Freddie filled in the blanks for me.  "You're wanting to stay here?"  He said evenly.

My hands were shaking; I hid them quickly behind my back.  God, this sounded so bad.  "I-I wouldn't take up much room.  You wouldn't have to deal with me very long anyhow.  If necessary I could just stay up in that green bedroom the whole time and you wouldn't have to see me, I'd be quiet as a mouse-"

"I wouldn't dream of locking you up like that, darling," he chuckled.  "Again, you must think I'm some sort of ogre."

"Oh, no.  I just don't want you to think I'm some kind of freeloader."  Without realizing it, I went into Donald Trump mode.  "If you let me stay, I'll earn my keep.  Believe me.  Whatever you need done, I'll do it.  I'll be so good.  That, I can tell you."

Freddie looked me up and down, decided I was for real (I guess).  Because he said at last, "How about this: a favor a day.  You can stay, certainly.  You seem an honest girl.  I'll give you a chance.  For every day you hang around, you owe me a favor.  I won't ask you to do anything impossible.  Errands, petty household chores, things like that.  How's that for a deal?"

He put out his hand, which I almost seized before I remembered the guy to whom I was talking.  "Wait.  One small wrinkle."

He groaned half-facetiously.  "Good Lord.  What is it?"

I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat.  Finally I forced them out, quietly: "No sexual favors, please."

Freddie's brows shot up.  "A rather pretentious wrinkle, that!"

"I know, I know.  It's stupid.  I'm sorry.  I just want the air cleared on that."  _And that's it,_ I added privately.  _I mean, look at me.  What would he want to mess with me for?  "_ Is that okay?"

He glanced down at the floor, his smile now a tad uncomfortable.  "No problem, Evie.  A shame, certainly, but that won't be a problem." _  
_

"Good," I said.  "Then we have a deal."

We shook hands.

"Congratulations, darling.  You are now an honorary member of the family," he announced. _  
_

There was a knock at the door.  "Are you ready, sir?"

"There's my chauffeur now.  Quick," Freddie said before calling at the front door, "Coming!"  He rushed back into the kitchen, banged around a few seconds, then hurried back.  A key dangled between the fingers of one hand.

"Here's the key to the flat," he said.  "Don't lose it, that's my spare.  And here," he continued, slapping an indefinite amount of money into my palm, "is your cue to go shopping."

I stared at him.  "Shopping?  No way!  I may not be here that long, you don't have to-"

"Eve, it's the middle of summer and you're standing there in a black turtleneck.  Go get something more suitable.  All you have to do is find a cab, and point wherever you want to go, and Boom!  You're off.  There should be enough there for you to get whatever you need."

My head was spinning; all I could do right then was nod numbly.  "Yes, sir."

_"_ And for heaven's sake, don't call me sir.  I'll be back this evening.  Try not to get yourself into trouble."  Freddie patted my cheek and turned swiftly for the door.

Abruptly I recalled my manners.  "I don't know how to thank you for all this, Freddie," I gasped.

He glanced back, and smiled his warmest smile yet.  "Well," he said, "let's just say you're lucky you've got such big eyes."

And  without another word, he disappeared.  _  
_

I was now all alone in the flat, if you didn't count the two cats dozing on the sofa and the one STILL staring up at me.  I had to sit down for a moment and recalibrate. _  
_

"Did he just say I've got big eyes?" I asked aloud.  "They're not that big.  He's just being nice.  But that's not important right now."

I started putting together a plan for the day.  I'd throw my clothes into the washer and clean myself up, get dressed again, then head for - a place to find clothes.  Sounded simple enough, except I didn't know where to start.

A light switched on in my brain.  What was that place where Freddie had worked, pre-Queen?  Some kind of indoor market type thing-

"Oh yes!" I exclaimed.  "Kensington Market.  Sounds good to me."

With renewed confidence, I went back upstairs _.  
_

 

 

 


	10. Birdman's Eye View: Deal Between the Devils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal here. Just so we understand each other, whenever you see a chapter with the words "Birdman's Eye View" in the title, that automatically means it is being told from the perspective of John Deacon, the bass player. All other chapters are in the voice of Julia, save where noted. Thank you.

I arrive first at Wessex Studios today. Most of the time, this is a smart move, because Freddie's usually next to show. But for some reason, today he's delayed. And so, I have the great pleasure of walking in only seconds before Roger.

"Hello, Deacy," Roger rasps. "Run into any more ghost girls?"

I smile and shake my head. My gaze stays down so he doesn't see the "F--- you" in my eyes. 

For the next few minutes I busy myself with tuning the bass. Roger starts banging away on the drums, practicing his latest song. "Fight From the Inside," I think he calls it. It's bass and drum heavy, so it gives me something interesting to do. So far, it's definitely his best. But then, that's not saying much when you've got tripe like "Tenement Funster" and "I'm in Love with My Car" padding your repertoire. I'm new to the songwriting business, too, but at least I've penned a hit.

Don't tell anyone I said that, though. 

Brian's not too far behind Roger. In about ten minutes, he rushes through the door lugging along his 'Old Lady.' The pale face under that curly mop of hair looks unusually expressive.

"Guys, you'll never guess who's recording in the studio next door," he says. 

Roger shrugs. "ELO?"

"No."

"Peter Gabriel? Wings?"

"No, and no."

"Then, who?"

"The Sex Pistols."

I'm tempted to ask what's so important about the Sex Pistols, but I know better. Because Brian isn't finished talking.

He sighs. "The shit's going to hit the fan when he finds out."

Of course, he means Freddie. 

"So what? Freddie won't care. They've got to record somewhere too," Roger says. 

"True. We can't all slip off to Freddie's closet to do our dirty work," Brian quips, coaxing a laugh or two from Roger.

I sigh. It's going to be a long day. 

"You boys can stop picking on John now," Freddie's voice cuts in. He appears in the doorway a second later. "He's not as crazy as you thought."

We all exchange glances until Brian finally asks, "You mean, there was a girl in there after all?"

"I'm afraid so," Freddie says.

And naturally, we erupt with questions.

"What was she doing in there?" Brian asks.

"I don't know. She was under the bed when I found her."

"What's her name?" I say.

"Again, I don't know. I call her Eve."

"Is she pretty?" Roger wonders.

"Pretty?" Freddie's brows come together, and he sits down. "Oh, I'm not sure if pretty is exactly the right word..."

"Is she _not_ pretty?" Roger persists.

"Well, I'll be honest with you," he sighs. "She's breathtaking."

"In a good way?"

"Is there a bad way to be breathtaking? She's beautiful. Her eyes are this big around, I'm not kidding." He makes a circle with his thumb and index finger. 

That's not enough for our womanizing drummer. "What else?"

"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Roger. She looks like the younger sister of that one actress, what's her name, she was in that movie _The Graduate_..."

"Anne Bancroft?" I suggest.

"No, no! The other one. The one who played the girl who went, 'BEEENNN!'"

"Katharine Ross?" 

"Is that her name? Oh. Then, yeah, she looks like her."

Roger grins. "What a shame we didn't get to see this Eve of yours."

By contrast, Brian visibly would prefer to drop this discussion of Freddie's exciting private life, and is opening his guitar case. "It's a bit scary to me. Sure hope that doesn't happen again. Sycophant fans like those can be dangerous."

"You're both wrong," Freddie says.

Brian looks up, frowning. You have to be some kind of brave, or else some kind of absolute idiot, to say Brian is wrong. Trust me.

Freddie continues, "She's not gone, for one; and for another, she'd never even heard of us, so she's not a fan at all."

Brian and Roger (and even the sound men who've just walked in) groan. "You believed her?" Brian says in disbelief. "This girl had tucked herself away in your closet and you believe her?"

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

"She sounds absolutely mad," Roger remarks.

"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt about that." Freddie clears his throat. "But I see it this way. Fans to that extreme, who would consider, you know, doing something sneaky like that just to get close to one of us- I just don't feel like she's that kind of person. She's very practical. Fans who think breaking and entering is a good idea are not, by definition, practical. She says she doesn't know how she even wound up in my house."

"Practical, but crazy- not to mention expert lockpick?" Brian says dryly. 

"And beautiful. Don't forget beautiful," Freddie corrects him. "To be sure, I've slept with worse."

I hate it when he says things like that.

"What's funny is, she doesn't even want that from me," he goes on. "She just wants shelter."

"You certain she doesn't know who you are?" Roger teases.

"F--- off, you sod. You're just jealous she didn't show up in YOUR closet."

"Bad luck," Brian comments as they laugh. He's now getting up, ready to start work on our songs. I'm with him; this Eve has only said three sharp words to me so far, yet I feel sorry for her.   
I know where this is going.

And it begins. "Too bad," Roger goads. "Struck out before you even step up to bat, eh, Fred?"

Freddie turns. "Is that a challenge? I've got quite a reputation, you know."

Roger grins like a crocodile. "Could you change her mind, you think? I know I could."

"She's not your type."

"One hundred pounds says she's not yours, either."

I close my eyes in spite of myself. _Don't do it, Fred_ , I beg him silently.

"You're on!" he cries. They shake on it.

"Lads! Are we going to get to business, or are you just here to talk trash?" Brian calls.

And all I can think is, _Poor Eve. Poor crazy Eve._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. A Call From K

I held the floral patterned, button-down shirt up against me and looked at where it fell.  Hm.  Was this the late seventies' casual style?  I was trying to be open-minded, but open-minded and money-minded are two very contradictory ideas.  I liked the price; the look, not so much.  This was far too big in the waist anyway; I was a small in this style, easy. 

"Do you have any of these in a smaller size?"  I asked the washed-out woman running the stall.

"That's the smallest it gets," she said.  "But I dare say, it wasn't meant for your likes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She pointed at the banner across the front of the stand.  "These are men's shirts, love."

"Oh," I muttered, "Sorry."  Cheeks burning, I laid the shirt down and began edging away to whatever other stall where I had not yet completely embarrassed myself.

Want to know a secret?  I hate shopping.  I absolutely loathe it.  No, correction.  I hate shopping for clothes.  One hour in a department store, drowning in the paisleys and the polyesters and the overbright colors jumping out from every side, and I'm wiped out from visual overload.  And I'd been in shopping mode most of the day, starting the second I got out of the cab- along with apparently everyone else in the city (but then, it was a Saturday after all; this was before the Internet, people had to do _something_ to pass the time back then).  True, there was plenty to see at Kensington Market, certainly countless other items I would have preferred to peruse instead of racks of clothes.  But I was on a mission.

As discreetly as I could, I checked the tracker, and sighed again.  My hands were empty; my venture, unsuccessful.  Could I go back now?

Then a stall advertising good, old-fashioned, regular t-shirts caught my eye.  Just what I had in mind!

Another woman, but younger and friendlier than the last, greeted me.  "My dear!  Aren't you suffocating in that thing?"  She gestured toward my turtleneck.

True, the place was warm, and warmer than I was used to as interiors go.  It's altogether possible Kensington Market didn't even have air conditioning yet.  But it wasn't all that bad.

I shook my head.  "This is nothing compared to Texas.  You can fry an egg on the shady part of the sidewalk, this time over there."

She showed me a few articles she had on display, many of them very "fetching" (now, THERE'S a word I'd heard a lot that day- a great word, though) and one or two I would actually have liked to purchase.  But I turned my attention instead to the plain t-shirts.  I wasn't about to sponge off Freddie's bank account for pretty things I might not ever get the chance to wear.

The lady watched me run through stacks of multicolored tees.  I chose a simple red solid and a white.  "This will do fine."

"Anything else?"

"Don't think so.  I'll keep it simple, like usual."

Finally she could stand it no longer and she asked me, "Tell me, how do you expect to catch yourself a man with an attitude like that?"

I laughed.  "Ma'am, I'm not here to catch men, I'm here to get through."

She gave me a knowing look.  "My dear, we're all here to catch men, whether we like it or not.  Oh, good.  You're not one of those women's libbers, I can tell because you let me say that without launching into a tirade.  But it's true, you know.  Question is, are you going to bait the hook?"

"Oh, ma'am, believe me, I would, except the little pond I'm swimming in right now is a little- shall we say, dangerous?  I mean, you could hang a bare, rusty hook over the surface, and he'd jump at it."

"Ah," she nodded, "then in that case, you're smart.  But remember, it's not a sin just to look good for yourself, too."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.  "I'll just take these two for now, though."

I laughed silently as I handed her ten pounds (five pounds a shirt- a great deal!) and tucked the shirts in my bag.  What a way to give myself airs.  Freddie could have anyone he wanted.  If I were just another independent girl walking the streets of London, Tokyo, Rio, or any other tour stop, he wouldn't even look at me once, let alone twice.

As soon as I'd turned my back, above the hustle and bustle, I heard a high, tinny "Bip-bip-bip-bip BEEP-"

I nearly dropped everything.  I ran for the door, one hand on my back pocket struggling to pull out the Relic in time without making a scene.  I was unsuccessful; I accidentally rammed right into someone.  But I kept going, trying to ignore my darn cognitive dissonance (psychology buzz word, for you in the audience) as he yelled at me to watch where the hell I was going.

I worked it out of my pocket and pressed the green button.  "Dr. K!"

"Julia!  How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay.  What's taking you guys so long?  You said two hours, max!  It's been a whole frickin' day!  My family's probably called the police already."

"What?  I only talked to you ten minutes ago.  We've been trying to lock back onto your signal ever since!"

"Wrong.  It's been about eighteen hours since we last talked.  What's going on?"

"Ten minutes in eighteen hours?" Dr. K sounded shocked.  "Well, then it's a good thing you botched it."

"Damn," Dr. C said in the background.  "We didn't count on time relativity.  Minutes can seem like hours, hours like days, and days like minutes.  Should have known. I blame myself.  Still, maybe you can find him.  Are you in a place where you can find him?"

"Him, who?"

"That's ridiculous, Tim," Dr. K said to Dr. C.  "He died in '72.  She's in England in 1977.  She couldn't find Saul even if she wanted to."

I stopped.  Saul?  Dead in '72?  Those famous political suits in the fishbowl yesterday?  There arose only one name in my mind.

"Am I to understand," I said slowly, "that you people were wanting to send me to 1971 to talk to Saul Alinsky?"  I was drawing eyes from even across the street; I ducked into an alley.

"Well, no, not at all, we just, actually, um..." Dr. K hemmed and hawed, until finally he sighed.  "Yes."

"Are you kidding me?"

Dr. C scoffed, "What?  You don't know who he is anyway-"

"The hell I don't!  He was a world-class agitator!  You could have sent me to Thomas Edison!  Albert Einstein!  People who actually did this world some good!  Why him?  What for?  Saul Alinsky was a monster!"

"I told you she was bright," Dr. K murmured.  

"It was all in the first page of your journal, your log.  Did you even look at the instructions, Julia?" Now Dr. C sounded exasperated at me, which I found completely uncalled for.  They'd dropped the ball on this one, not me!

"No, sorry, I forgot, I'm a little busy trying to tiptoe my way through the day in another country without getting caught!"

"Dammit!  George is so through with us," Dr. C grumbled. 

"Doesn't matter right now.  We have to get her out of there," Dr. K snapped.  

My kinda guy!  "Yes, and quick, you're shorting out again!"  

"Okay, Julia, we're obtaining your coordinates right now.  When the light's green, say 'Now', and push the button on my command."

I whipped out the tracker, now a flickering blue.  _Come on, come on, you stupid little wafer, go green!_

And it did.  My voice shaking, I shouted, "Now!"

"-Race yourse-!"  came Dr. K's choppy words.

I knelt on the cobblestones, backpack in my arms again.  My eyes squeezed shut.

Suddenly my body started vibrating, as if I was being tased without a taser.  It wasn't fun.  _Just get it over with!  Do it_!

Dr. K said, "Some-ng's wro-!"

"What?" I yelled into the Relic.

"-'S not ork-ng! Have to r-start T-Ro-"

The electricity was still coursing through my veins, and becoming rather painful now.  The light round my neck blazed green.  Dr. K was slipping out of range.  And I was getting electrocuted.

There was only one thing to do.  I pushed the button.

But no camera flashes, no sudden blindness, no transport.  

If nothing else, power stopped jabbing its electron-toothed blades into my spine, thankfully.  And one last coherent message from Dr. K: "We're restarting T-Rod, we should be good to go by your tomorrow and we'll bring you in.  Hang on in there a little longer!"

The Relic went silent, and the light turned red.

I leaned against the brick wall behind me, eyes closed.  I let out a heavy sigh through my nose.  Well, so much for that. _These guys have to be the worst scientists ever.  
_

A policeman tapped his billy club against my arm. "Are you ill, madam?"

I glanced up into the flaring nostrils of the red, bulbous nose above my head.He put out his hand to help me.

"I don't think so," I answered.  I took his hand and lifted myself to my feet, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. _  
_

_"_ You were carrying on in a most peculiar fashion a moment ago,"  he continued.  "Perhaps you would like a ride home?"

I smiled as reassuringly as I could.  "I'm all right, really.  I was- um, just having a moment."  _  
_

"Very well," he coughed.  "Simply don't make moments such as those a habit, what? But I would be happy to escort you home if you wish."

"No, sir.  Thank you. I know my way back."  My smile only broadened as I remembered that I truly did have somewhere to go after all.  It wasn't home, but it was familiar, and it was friendly.  Right then, that was enough for me.  _  
_

I put my hand in the air and called to the string of stately black autos, "Taxi!" _  
_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Meeting the Gang

At about seven o' clock, I set down the bowls of cat food and waited. Within half a minute all three of Freddie's cats bounded into the kitchen: first my orange, self-appointed new best friend, Oscar; the dark brown and lethargic Tom; and the pretty calico named Tiffany. At this point I had yet to learn Tom's name, but since I write this story many times the wiser, I can tell it to you now.

"Oh, sure," I remarked softly. "You get your lazy arses off the couch for chow time. All the rest of the day, you sleep. The flat could burn down around you, and you'd sleep amongst the ashes. But someone gets out the can opener? Stampede."

At that, Oscar looked up at me, and I swear to God he beamed a sneeze right into my eyes.

"AAA-CHOO!" I rubbed my nose. "Oh, Oscar. Why do you find my allergies funny?"

I wandered into the living room. I really hadn't done a lot of exploring around here. Did I mention the walls were a warm burnt orange? No? Well, there you go. Gold records hung where art and crystal apparently didn't reach. There was a television on one side -a dinky little box by today's standards. Nearby stood the all-encompassing entertainment center. I was tempted to see if there was an auxiliary jack for my smart phone anywhere in there, but common sense prevented me from that search. Just beside it was the same kind of intercom speaker I'd seen in the kitchen and in my bedroom (I was thinking of it as _my_ bedroom now). I had pretty much ignored them until now. The actual receiver was fixed in the wall at the top of the stairs, complete with a microphone and a radio dial.

I turned it on, whispered, "Test? Test?"  My voice echoed all around me. 

"Hello?" I said in a normal voice, and the walls boomed with the word. But I shut it off before I got too carried away. Mischievous notions were already seeping into my brain- but not the one which would actually transpire.  Not yet.

Inside the entertainment center, I found vinyls, 33s and 45s, in numbers so great my fingers tingled with excitement. I pulled out one of his Aretha Franklin records (and he had many)- _Lady Soul_ , as I recall- and placed it on the turntable. Before long, "Chain of Fools" purred through the speakers and the flat was filled with her soulful magic.

"I should see what Dr. C was talking about," I said aloud. "Those instructions probably won't do me much good here, being for ol' Alinsky and all- but that journal will be a great place to record my, shall we say, Freddie observations?"

So I traipsed back up the stairs, dragging along my backpack.  Sprawling comfortably upon my bed, I laid the journal out before me and flipped to the first page.  I read:

_"Congratulations, Whom It May Concern!  You survived the first part of the experiment- an experiment no one has ever attempted before.  The second part- which involves bringing you back - may be a stickier situation, but chances are, if you made it this far, it's all downhill from here on out._

_"You have arrived in the year 1971-_

"Wrong," I said aloud, interrupting myself.  "It's 1977, you only _thought_ I was going to fall into the hands of Mr. _Rules for Radicals_.  Not so!  Ha ha."  I continued:

_"You have arrived in the year 1971, if our calculations hold true.  Do not panic.  If you follow these simple instructions, you will keep yourself safe."_

What followed were my Three Commandments (which I was keeping pretty well so far, if you can excuse me showing Freddie the Relic), only worded differently.  Keep a low profile, don't talk about where you come from, et cetera.  After that, the list of questions I was supposed to ask Mr. Alinsky.  I could show you those questions, and I would, but it was in the waiver I had to sign that the questions, answered or unanswered, remained classified.  From their perspective, I can certainly understand.

_"Record everything in writing; this is what your journal is for,"_ it concluded. _"If you are discreet enough, take photos with your smart phone.  ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TAKE ANY VIDEOS WHATSOEVER.  And at all times, use caution.  Enjoy your experience, of course.  But above all, understand you do not belong, and will not belong, in the place to which you have been sent.  There can be no exception.  If you go, you must come back."_

This long and rather redundant note ended with some stupid little greeting card blurb, like "Happy History-Making!" or something.  The rest of the hardcover journal was made up of one hundred blank sheets of lined paper.  Certainly, I decided, if they were going to go to all that trouble to send me anywhere, even if it was the wrong place, I ought to scrawl down a little something about what I'd been doing, as well as the man I did wind up with.

So I pulled out a black pen and started writing, downshifting into budding psychologist mode:

_**Day 1: Arrived in London 1977, July 1 in Freddie Mercury's house.  His closet, to be exact.  When he found me, he was very nice and let me sleep here.  Not sure how long hospitality will hold out, but grateful while it lasts.** _

_**N. F. O.**_ [which stood for "Notable Freddie Observations"] _ **: Freddie is very calm when something unexpected (like finding me in the closet) takes place.  Has deep sense of pride in Queen and the fame attached to it.  Was more than a little annoyed when I "failed to recognize" him.**_

_**Day 2: Made my host breakfast, went shopping.  Bought two t-shirts.  Fed his cats.  Whoopee doo.** _

_**N.F. O.: He must always have the last word.  Apparently very trusting of strangers, as he handed me five hundred pounds(!) and the key to his home and he doesn't even know my real name.  He calls me Eve Dubroc and he thinks I have big eyes.  I'm not really sure why.** _

I looked over my writing and yawned, underwhelmed.  _Man, I sure know how to have a good time,_ I thought sarcastically.

According to the clock, it was only ten till eight.  I had no problem stashing myself away into a corner, being alone most of the time.  But I was feeling a little lonely for a friendly face- a REAL face, not just images I could pull up on my phone and stare at awkwardly for a few minutes.  So, naturally, I started thinking about Freddie.

"I wonder what he's doing right now," I said aloud.  

Two seconds later, the phone rang.  On instinct I slid off the bed, hurried downstairs (there was a phone in his room, but until he told me otherwise I was treating that part of the flat like it was quarantined), and picked it up.

"Margaret Thatcher's residence," I boomed in as low a voice as I could muster.

Clear, laughing tones came through on the other end.  "Hello, Eve!"

"Speak of the devil.  Hi, Freddie!"  I grinned.  "What's going on?"

"Glad you're still around.  I've got your first favor in order," he announced.  "If you could please grab two bottles of red wine, I don't care which, out of the pantry and bring them up here to Wessex, please?"

"Any glasses?"

"No, we've got those here.  Unless you want to bring one for you."  

His tongue sounded slightly thick in his mouth.  I stifled a snort and asked myself how many bottles of wine they'd already blown through.  "Anything else you need?"

"Just your sweet self and the wine."

"You got it!  What's the address?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, my driver's already en route to pick you up.  Should be there in two shakes.  Also!  You went shopping today, right?  Good girl.  Throw something new on and show us what you bought.  See you in a few!"

I hung up the phone.  Strange, I didn't feel euphoric or tongue-tied when talking to him.  I always thought I would, with Freddie's enormous image in mind. Maybe by pretending Freddie was just another guy, I was tricking some subconscious part of myself as well.  Ah, the power of  the mind.  But anyway!

I randomly grabbed a Cabernet and Pinot Noir.  I don't remember what brand, or what country, but they had both been bottled sometime in the 1940's.  I recall that much because it made me shake my head; there's no telling how much that wine cost, and there were two dozen more no younger in the pantry.

Of the red or white shirts I bought, I selected red.  I pulled it over my head and discovered a little too late that the tee, while looking chaste enough at the Market, was two sizes too small.  It hugged- no, _squeezed_ in all the wrong places, certainly all the places I wanted hidden while anywhere near four young rockers (I trusted John most, but I couldn't take any chances).  The V-Neck collar looked especially strained, and my belly button showed.

From the bedroom doorway, Oscar stared with wide feline eyes.  He licked his chops.

"Oh, shut up," I said.  "I can't help the way it makes my fronts look.  But I gotta do at least something about this.  I look so trashy."  

And I did.  In a trice, I'd tied my black turtleneck round my exposed waist, forming a kind of sash.  There wasn't enough time to modify anything else; Freddie's chauffeur arrived too quickly.  One last dab of lipstick for good measure, and wine in hands, I flung open the door.

And almost screamed when I saw the well-dressed, six-foot-nine pillar of brawn standing outside the door.

"Miss Eve?" the man said.  

"That's me," I replied, recovering.

His voice wasn't the most amiable.  "I'm Rudy, Freddie's driver.  Come along."

Only in this surreal world of the past would I have allowed myself to follow this gorilla of a man into a gleaming, silver Rolls Royce.  London was, if possible, prettier at sunset than at straight up midday, and I couldn't even enjoy it. He made me extremely nervous.  

"Do you double as his bodyguard, too?" I asked.

"When necessary," Rudy answered.  

"Has it ever been necessary?" 

"Yes." 

I think that's all he said the whole twenty-five minute drive.

Needless to say, I was glad to see the old church building that was now Wessex Studio.  I clambered out of the car and adjusted my turtle-sash.  Heavy drum beats and the unmistakable wail of Brian's guitar escaped the church walls.

"I'll be here waiting," Rudy informed me, to which I replied that he wouldn't be waiting long.

I walked down the sidewalk, feeling slightly ridiculous in my outfit.  What would the Queen fellows think?  Some fashionista I was.  In spite of myself, however, I lifted my chin the way a stubbornly haughty Freddie would have done, and pushed the door open with all the confidence of a real queen.

"Who are you?" a hostile receptionist demanded.  

Inside, I shrank back, about to explain myself when another door opened and a head of dark, thick hair poked out.  

"There you are!" Freddie crooned, hands outstretched.  "And you've brought the wine.  Perfect!"

"As you wish, Master," I said, bowing low.  "Any other task thou wouldst have me perform?"

"Not tonight.  This will do quite nicely for now!" he said.  

"Great!  Then I'll just be heading back to the flat now-"

"Oh, no, not yet!  Come on in, the boys are anxious to meet you."

"You told your band about me?"  I stepped back.

"Why not?  If a girl shows up in your house unannounced, do you just ignore it?"

"Well, frankly, I don't know, I've never-"

"Exactly.  Come on!"

"Ha, ha, no, thanks.  They're busy, I can hear it.  And you," I added, "probably need to get back in there and corral them."

Freddie folded his arms.  "You're too much, darling.  Most girls, most people, would leap for a chance to get this close to us.  Maybe it's because you haven't seen us perform.  Or-"

"Hey, Fred, close the door!" a Londoner's voice chided- one I didn't recognize.  Freddie acted swiftly; he took me by the wine bottles and pulled me into the control room before I knew what was happening, closing the door behind us.

"Shifty," I muttered.  Freddie ignored me, and handed one of the bottles to a sound guy for him to open.  Something else to add to the NFO list: _Does not open own wine bottle._

"What'ya think of that one?" called the drummer, setting his sticks down.

"We'll have to play it back in a second, come in and listen," Freddie said over the intercom. 

Freddie looked back at me.  "Did you buy that shirt today?"

"Yes," I said.  "I'm regretting it now."

"It's just a tad tight, is all.  Show me tomorrow what else you got!"

"If I'm still here."

"Oh, that's right.  I forgot, I could still turn you in.  Thanks for reminding me."

"Not at all.  I really don't have to show you any more anyway.  I just bought this and another like it in white."

He blinked.  "That's all?"

It was here that the three others tramped into the control room.  "This song is getting so f---ing slow," Roger complained, whipping out a cigarette. "Brian, it gets slower every time, and I didn't write it like that.  It's not m-" 

He cut himself off as his drowsy eyes glanced my way.  He looked at Freddie.  "Is this the Eve we're heard so much about?"

I forced myself not to react.  If I wasn't supposed to know Freddie, I couldn't recognize anyone else.  

"You're the guy with the sneakers," I said, too brightly.  When his brows knit, uncomprehending, I explained, "That's all I could see from under the bed.  You were wearing sneakers."

"So you remembered my voice," he said with a suave little grin, the cigarette between his pretty white teeth.  Roger was indeed very handsome, but with that high voice I found him incredibly hard to take seriously. 

"Yours is a hard one to forget," I replied ambiguously before I realized how that might sound.  He took hold of my hand, then, so that I was convinced that he had heard it just that way.  

"Pleasure to meet you, Eve," he cooed, bending over my hand- perhaps to kiss it.

"That's Roger," Freddie cut in- rather hastily, I thought.  "He hits the drums, things like that."

"I play them," Roger corrected him, and let go of me to light his smoke.  I didn't mind.  He offered me a cigarette as well, but I shook my head.

"Whatever," Freddie said. "And that's Brian over there."

Brian was filling his glass of wine; he waved to me and grunted with supreme indifference.  

"Guy with Clogs," I said.  "Brian.  Got it."

John had been still fiddling around in the studio room.  After a moment he set his bass down and joined the rest.  His small eyes landed on me and widened in surprise.

"I suppose you know Deaks already," Roger quipped.  

"I'm John," he said, putting out his hand.  "John Deacon."

"Oh, yes, we're practically family," I replied.  "Sorry for snapping at you yesterday.  I was- distracted."

He smiled shyly and shrugged.  It was that moment I knew I would make this guy my best friend.  John had the kind of face that makes you just want to pour out your whole life story to him because you know he'd be polite enough to listen to the whole thing. And for that moment, I ached to explain my reason for being here, as improbable as it sounded, because at least he would act as though he believed me.  

"Wine?" A full glass crossed my peripheral vision.

"No, thank you.  I don't drink," I answered.

"Really?" Freddie sounded surprised. 

"Yep.  Never touch it.  Makes me sleepy, wine does."

"What a shame."

"You don't drink, you don't smoke," Roger said thoughtfully.  "Next you'll be telling us you're a virgin."

Somebody laughed.  I smiled, now uncomfortable and not a little embarrassed.  "Anyway, um, I just came to bring the wine, it was nice meeting you fellas, I'll let you get back to work."

John nodded, something strange in his face, a look that was anything but happy.  I felt like he was trying to tell me something.

"I'll see you out, dear," Freddie offered.  He took my hand, led me out and I called my farewells behind me, two of which were answered.  Just before the door closed, I heard Roger's indiscreet voice exclaim, "God!  Did you get a load of that ra-"

My mind finished what I was lucky enough to miss.  _Now I REALLY regret wearing this_ , I groaned inwardly.

When we were in the front room, Freddie took me aside.  "Did I miss something, or did you say you spent five hundred pounds on two of these?"  He fingered the sleeve of my shirt to emphasize.

"I did not."

"What did you spend on them?"

"Ten quid!"  I grinned, pleased with my use of British slang.  God, I'm so American it's not even funny.

"Okay. Ten quid.  What else did you find?"

"That's it, really.  I bought lunch while out, and paid for the cab.  And that adds up to... twenty, yeah, twenty pounds give or take. Thank you so much for-  Oh, yes!  Here's what's left."

I handed him four hundred eighty pounds.  

It took him a minute to find the words.  "What kind of world do you come from?"

"Don't tell me you expected me to go pick out a whole new wardrobe!  I could be gone tomorrow."  And according to Dr. K, that's exactly what would happen.

Freddie rubbed his eyes.  "Well, that settles it.  We'll have to fix you."

"What?"  That didn't sound too good.

"You obviously need someone to hold your hand wherever you go and help you think, so tomorrow, after my interview, you and I are going to take this-" he held up the money- "and thoroughly burn it on proper clothes.  None of this peasant t-shirt stuff.  Proper things."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm in most deadly earnest, my dear Eve.  You can't be Scottish every minute of your life.  That's a life well squandered."

"I was only trying to be considerate.  And I'm only half-Scottish, thank you."

"What's the other half?"  Freddie was very easily sidetracked.

"Italian.  My mother is from Tuscany."

Swirling his arms dramatically, he thundered in his stage voice, "So be Italian.  Make your mother proud!  You're with me, live a little!"

Quite unsuccessfully I fought against a sudden fit of laughter.  "I think you're tipsy, and I need to go, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll have Rudy come get you at half-past one tomorrow, I should be finished talking to the old bugger by then.  Don't disappoint me!"  Before I could give another wishy-washy reply, he added, "Let's consider it your favor for the day."

All right, now I had to agree.  I nodded, though the idea of going back on another shopping spree left me rather cold.  But a favor's a favor, and I was basically his indentured servant.

"Excellent.  I'll see you at two-ish."  With that, he leaned forward and kissed the top of my head.

"Happy recordings!" I said, refusing to react to the kiss and slipped out the door.  _I bet he does that to everyone._

As I got into the car, and we started heading back in the same deathlike silence, I couldn't help but notice the way my toes were wiggling in my shoes.  Curiouser and curiouser.  

_I just need some sleep_ , I told myself.  _I'll need it tomorrow_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. John Reid, the Salmon Man

I didn't see Freddie the next morning; he was already gone by the time I woke, which was fairly late- around ten a.m.  Ah, the curse of the college student. So easy to fall into poor sleeping habits. I had the idea of using my Android as an alarm clock, and setting the buzz tone on the most obnoxious, 1970s-esque sound.  I couldn't oversleep every day.  I might miss something sensational.

I'd gone to bed late, fixing myself a light meal as soon as Rudy had carted me home and writing down all I'd seen at the studio down to the electric lamp's glare upon the consoles and the scent of cigarette smoke hanging heavy in the control room.   However, I left out Roger's assessment of my figure; I just didn't see how that could possibly contribute to science.  I played the heck out of Freddie's turntable until finally Oscar and I just retired to bed.

My light was red.  Briefly I checked the Relic.  No missed calls.  Perhaps Dr. K would zap me at the same time as yesterday.  I wasn't worried.  Even though K and C had given me no proof that they knew what they were doing, I still trusted them.  

As I stepped out of the shower, I heard someone knocking about downstairs.  Curious, I put on the only other change of clothes I had and hurried down to see a hardy-looking woman dusting the tables and pictures.

"Hello!" I said.  

She looked up, startled.  "Hello...?"  

"Sorry for scaring you.  I thought I was alone!"

"As did I," she replied in thick Yorkshire accents.  

I was feeling very outgoing towards anyone in Freddie's life.  To know a person's contacts is to know the person himself.  "What's your name?"

She told me her name was Eleanor Cottage, and that she preferred to be called Mrs. Cottage if we were to be particular.  

"I'm Jul- er, Eve.  Eve Dubroc.  I don't care what name you want to call me by.  Ms. Dubroc, or Eve, doesn't matter."

"I like the Ms. Dubroc meself," she mused.  That made sense; she worked for Freddie, so ours would be a professional relationship.  "You're a sweet one, Ms. Dubroc.  Don't usually get a hello from his, ah, friends.  Except maybe that one other girl, she's very polite too.  But no one else."

"That's their misfortune," I quipped.  "So, are you Freddie's, um, are you his housekeeper?"

"I am."

"What's that like?"

She shrugged.  "He pays well."

"Is he nice to you?"

"Mostly.  He's never been anything but a perfect gentleman, to be sure."

There was something she was holding out on.  And I wanted to find out what.  "How about his 'friends'?"

"Ms. Dubroc, I don't go around blabbering about people I work for- and certainly not about or to their lovers."

"Lovers?  Oh!   Oh, no, I'm not- I'm not sleeping with him.  He's just letting me live here."

Ms. Cottage gave me a doubtful once-over, which spurred me to add, "Look, I don't even know if he came back last night.  I think I'd know the answer to that if I was sharing his bed."

To which she conceded, "He likely didn't, if you ask me."  She looked like she was itching to get back to her cleaning, so I nodded and walked toward the kitchen.  I whistled at the thought of what she was hinting.  _Freddie, you are something else.  I may fill up that journal without even trying._

On the cupboard was taped a little white note with frantic black cursive on the front, " ** _Open me, please_**."

I laughed.  "Looks like he did make it home after all, Mrs. Cottage."

"Oh, yes?" she called.  "Well, that's good."

I opened the note as he'd so politely requested, and read silently. " _ **Hi, Sleeping Beauty.  I forgot to report you again, sorry about that.  I'll get to it sometime, I suppose.  Don't forget, we are buying you clothes this afternoon.  One thirty, sharp, Rudy will come round and bring you up to John's house.  Not Deacon, you don't know this John yet, but don't worry, he won't bite.  Much.  Don't be late, for I have a simply monstrous temper!!  Love and kisses, F**_."

"He's too much," I exclaimed.  "Just too much."  Still, I branded the time into my head.  I did not want to find out just how much Freddie was joking when he said "monstrous."

"Ms. Cottage, have you eaten anything today?" I asked.

"Just an apple, Ms. Dubroc.  I never eat heavy before work."

"If I made breakfast, would you like some as well?  I always make too much food when I cook for myself."

"No thank you, dear.  That's very sweet for you to offer, but I'm alright."  And in a voice she thought I couldn't detect, she murmured, "No, you're not at all like his... friends."

That confused me, but I tried not to think anything more of it save as one more blurb in the log.  At that moment, I had bigger eggs to fry.  

******************************************************************************************

Rudy was as good as Freddie had promised.  I had just gotten back to the flat after doing some grocery shopping for dinner that night (assuming Freddie would be joining me) when the doorbell rang, and the Not-So-Jolly Green Giant escorted me to the Rolls.

It had been a superbly lovely day so far.  The sky was bright blue, nary a cloud to be found.  Nearly everyone I'd spoken to had been the epitome of friendliness.  Everywhere I went, I was singing (timely songs, of course).  Under no circumstances would I let Rudy rain on my parade.

When the car door closed, and we sped off, I had a terrible idea.  I would annoy the heck out of my driver.  Chances were this wouldn't improve his attitude towards me, but I was still feeling so good, I didn't care.

"How are you feeling, Senor Rudy?"  I bubbled.

He grunted and shrugged.  

"Same as usual, I see.  Very well!  What have you been up to?"

There was no monosyllabic way out of that one.  "Acting as his bodyguard."

"It was necessary, huh?"

"Today."

"That's very interesting."  I rolled down the window, put out my hand into the wind.  He sighed through his nose.  Ah, the idiocy this poor man had to endure.  

My bad idea immediately became worse.  I began to sing.

"This one's for you, my little black rain cloud," I cried, and launched into "Bah-dum bi da dahh, Bah-dum bi da dahhh, Raindrops keep fallin' on my head..."

He closed his eyes a moment, subtly rolled his eyes.  But his right hand, the one he thought I couldn't see, was tapping against the steering wheel to the beat.  I kept singing.

Fortunately for Rudy, whose ears by now I'm sure were aching, we arrived at the New John's house in under six minutes.  That was probably because he was speeding twenty above the limit.  I wonder how often he had to put up with the same thing from Freddie himself.

Parking the car, we both got out and started walking up the steps.  As we approached the house, the door opened and a brisk young fellow with a distinctly British (but attractive) face hurried out.  His mouth was working furiously, and he gripped a tape recorder in one hand and a clipboard in the other.  I swallowed.  Something very intense had just gone down.

"Good day!" I said cheerily after him.

Without even looking back, he growled, "Bollocks!" and disappeared into a cab.

I blinked.  "What's his problem?"

I received no answer.  No direct answer, anyway.  Once we were let inside the house, we got enough of one as soon as we heard Freddie.  He wasn't visible yet, but oh, man, was he audible. I could show what all he screamed, but I'd have to market this book as one meant for mature audiences only.  He wasn't happy.

Rudy marched up to the closed door where Freddie was having his tantrum and knocked.  Immediately everything hushed.  The door whooshed open.  First, out came a gentleman with dark brown hair and a cautious expression in his eyes, as if anything he could possibly say had the risk of lighting another dynamite hissy fit.  

And then, out strolled Freddie.  I had held ice cubes that were warmer than his demeanor.  His eyes were on the floor, his mouth pressed in a tighter line than usual (what with his teeth, his mouth always looked a little tight).  His hands were firmly shoved into his jacket pockets (some nerve, lecturing me about "suitable" summer clothes and here he was dressed in a shiny leather jacket).  I got the impression that if I touched his shoulder, my fingers would blacken with frostbite.  

"I don't know what to tell you, Freddie," the man said in a thick Scottish brogue.  "I'm sorry."

Freddie didn't answer.  He pointed at the coat rack.  I watched in ever-growing amazement as Rudy picked up the scarf with hung there and placed it into his upturned palm.  Slinging it loosely round his neck, Freddie moved to the door, Rudy and I in tow.

Suddenly he turned, spoke coldly to the Scots.  "And for God's sake, do something about that f---ing cook of yours.  Whatever that was, it wasn't any f---ing salmon."

Until we got back in the car, that was all he said.  But apparently whatever venting he'd done to John (whose face I at last recognized as their John Reid's, their manager at this time) was anything but satisfactory.

I broke the silence as gently as I could.  "So, um... how did that go?"

He exploded.  "That Parsons prick!  So high and f---ing mighty, with his pen and paper.  That f---ing g--d--- NME!  Putting people in f---ing bags, thinking they know so f---ing much!  F--- the press!  God!  Who the f--- do they think they are?"

See what I mean?

"Freddie, we don't have to go shopping today, really-"

"No f---ing way. I need it.  Rudy, take us to the Square."

Rudy nodded, and Freddie fell silent again, cold as ever.

My buoyant mood now had millstones wrapped around it, dragging it down into the depths.  I tried to change the subject.

"So... that's John, huh?" I ventured.

He nodded.  "John Reid.  Our manager."

I twiddled my thumbs a little, then asked, "So what was the deal with the salmon?"

"It was f---ing horrendous, that's what."

I was already tiring of Freddie talking like a Tarantino script, but I kept trying.  "What was wrong with it?"

"Everything.  Even that prick hated it."

I nodded, staring out the window at a still very lovely day.  To myself I said, "Okay.  Salmon Man, John Reid.  And Sneakers Guy, that's Roger.  Then John Deacon, and then Mr. Clogs, Brian."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his mouth twitch.  I turned with interest.

"What?" I asked.

A smile spread quickly over his face, which he promptly covered.  "Nothing."

"Sorry, I was just trying to keep the names straight."

"I know, just... Mr. Clogs?  Really?"

"What's wrong with it?"

He snorted.  "Nothing, it just... it just makes him sound constipated or something."

I gaped at him.  "You are such a child."  But I found myself start to snicker as well, as I thought of Brian in a very uncomfortable situation, and the look on his imagined face finally had me burst out laughing.  

That gleam of yesterday morning had returned to his eyes, the mask slowly melting, and he winked.  Even Rudy sighed in the front seat, clearly in relief.  

Under mental N.F.O.'s, I marked this: _Very bad influence on me- but in a good way._

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Dude, Where's My Phone?

From just outside the dressing room, I heard Freddie huff impatiently. "Have you got it on, yet?"

"Patience, grasshopper," I called back.

"What?" he asked, his tone defensive. "Who's a grasshopper?"

Fortunately the reference I'd flippantly made wasn't anachronistic. I explained, "It's from a TV show called _Kung Fu_! The Chinese guy keeps saying it, that's all."

He relaxed. "Oh, okay. That's better."

"What did you think I was talking about?"

"Never mind."

But it didn't take a superbrain to decipher what he had assumed I meant. Freddie knew he was slim and leggy just as much as I knew it. Hastily I scrawled another NFO (yes, I had my backpack in there with me): _Physically self-aware, but hides it._

It was utterly astonishing, how much he loved shopping. While I'd dragged my feet around Kensington Market, he flitted from store to store like a butterfly among fragrant flowers (in white platforms, no less), never seeming to get enough of dropping a hundred pounds everywhere we went. I could give a meticulous rundown of our shopping spree so far. But since shopping is not my pleasure point, I won't. So let me sum up about three and a half hours (so far) of clothes hunting in a few lines of dialogue:

"Ooo. I like this."

"How much?"

"A lot, you goose, or else I wouldn't have picked it-"

"No, I mean, how much is it?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I do. It's important."

"That's the wrong approach to take. I could buy up this whole place right now if I wanted to. And you'd look even more ravishing than you already are, in this."

"Absolutely not."

"You say that every time, and then you change your mind."

"I mean it this time."

"Evie, darling. The least you can do is try it on."

And that's how I'd already ended up with four halter tops, three vests and corresponding button downs, two pairs of capris, two pairs of bell-bottom jeans, three pairs of shorts, two skirts, five dresses fit for any occasion, a vast assortment of lingerie (now, on those, I did in fact try them on without his visual approval), and four sets of pajamas. Oh yes, and three pairs of shoes. The man was a spending maniac.

_NFO:_ _"No" is apparently Freddie-speak for "yes."_

Now, I was testing a new tactic. Maybe if I didn't make the crucial error of showing Freddie how this jumpsuit looked on me, and just made him take my word for it, we could move on. Of course, he picked it out. It was the latest fashion- and Freddie was all about fashion. But if this sleeveless, fuchsia nightmare with the parachute bell-bottoms and wacky, plunging v-neck collar fit the bill for "modern" fashion, I'd happily resign myself to boring button down tops and khakis.

Quietly I wormed and wiggled into the jumpsuit, so I could at least say I'd put it on. My fears were confirmed; I don't know what women back in the late seventies were smoking, but it enabled them to dress like that and keep a straight face. For the first time in my life, I actually appreciated 2017 couture. Ours isn't much better, to be fair, but at least our jumpers don't have legs that flare out so wide at the bottom that they look like lampshades.

"Mm," was all I said.

"Let me see!" Freddie insisted.

"It doesn't fit," I lied. "Too big."

"But it's your exact size. Should fit you like a glove!"

"I guess not," I sighed. "Oh, well!"

"Come out and show me, if you please," he requested.

"Trust me, Freddie, it doesn't work."

Suddenly the curtain slid to one side and there he stood, studying me in my fuchsia glory. It was all I could do not to hit him.

He shook his head. "It's not the size. It's the color. I think the ivory would suit you better." And with that he drew the curtain again.

"Freddie, you're killing me, I don't need a jumpsuit!" I stepped out of the one-piece.

"But it's the latest craze."

Oh, how many times had he said THAT today, the pushy little Beau Brummel! "Look, thank you for all you're doing for me, but for heaven's sake, I'll never be able to wear all this!"

I just want to give you the option, dear," he crooned. "Hand me the one you've got, I'll get the one in ivory."

I crossed my arms, standing firm in nothing but a bra and my underwear. "I don't want a jumpsuit, Freddie. End of story."

The curtain snapped back. I squealed in surprise, and suddenly there was Freddie's face peering in at me. I fumbled for my clothes to hide myself, spluttering, "You cheeky inconsiderate little-"

"Darling, let me ask you this," he interrupted, not reacting to my red-faced, half-naked state. "In a crowd, would you rather _stand_ out- or _stick_ out?"

I blinked. "Couldn't I just fade into the background?"

"Not while I have any say about it. You'd rather _stand_ out, right? Of course you would."

"Freddie, I'm not wearing any clothes! Get out!" I hissed, and threw the jumpsuit to him.

"You're not?" he pretended to be shocked. "Why, Eve, this _is_ a new side of you. I'll go get the ivory." And he disappeared.

_SO RUDE_ , I hollered within my head. I reached for my t-shirt and jeans.

"By the way-" Presto, it returned, the taut (now faintly smirking) face framed by curtain! "-You shouldn't have that bag in here, you know. Very suspicious."

"OUT OUT OUT!" I whisper-shouted. "AND TAKE THIS, TOO!" I tossed over my backpack. Laughing like a madman, he snatched that up as well and vanished. I might have remained frustrated, perhaps have become even more so as my embarrassment set in, but that rolling, contagious laugh stopped my ire before it really even began.

I waited a moment, holding my clothes to my chest, in case he decided to yet again spring back into view. But his footsteps died away, and I could get dressed in peace. Good God! Was nothing, not even privacy, sacred to him? And what was this magic he held, that I couldn't stay angry about something as shocking as busting in on me while I was undressed? So many questions, and so many more to come.

I pulled my shirt on over my head, and was straightening it when I heard a loud thud, as if someone tripped and fell on the hardwood floor.

"You okay?" I called. No answer. I shrugged and went back to business, thinking little of it.

When I was decent, I drew back the curtain and walked out to meet Freddie. Oddly enough, however, I didn't find him waiting there with Rudy by the dressing room entrance. So I walked around a little until at last I found the two of them at the checkout. Rudy was now guarding my backpack while Freddie forked over the cash.

"I'll take this, Rudy, thank you," I said.

Freddie glanced back at me and remarked dryly, "I rather liked what you were - or shall I say, _weren't_ wearing earlier. You should do that more often. It'll be terribly catching."

I leaned in and whispered, "Don't you try to butter me up, Silver Tongue. Some perfect gentleman _you_ are, barging in on a girl while she's dressing."

"Hush, and hold this, please," Freddie instructed, laying the cream-colored jumpsuit in my arms. The three of us strolled out to the car, and I stuffed the jumpsuit into the almost overflowing trunk.

He surveyed the pile of clothes there and nodded. "I think you're set for a while, don't you?"

"I'm so set I don't know what to do with myself," I said. "'Thank you' just seems so inadequate, but, um- thank you."

"Don't give it another thought, darling," he purred. "I love spending money. Might as well spend it on you!"

"You're very kind."

"No, not really. Just frivolous, but fabulously frivolous at that." He smiled. From the sweetness of that smile, I began to think maybe I wasn't such a burden on him after all.

I looked at the sky, forgetting it was summer here and the sun didn't go down by five. "What time is it?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Rudy, what time is it?"

Rudy glanced at his watch. "Nearly six."

"Oh! I need to get back, start supper," I said.

Freddie put his hands in his pockets. "What are we having?"

"Roast chicken. Is that okay with you?"

"Sounds divine. Rudy, let's pick up a bottle of white wine before we start for home."

"Don't you have to go to the studio today?" I asked as I clambered back into the seat.

Freddie shook his head. "It's Sunday."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning, it's a holy day of rest, so I can do whatever the f--- I damn well please! " he announced. 

"'Holy' being the operative word, of course," I quipped.

"Naturally."

Rudy started the car, and we pulled away from the curb back into traffic.

I leaned back and sighed contentedly. Now was a good time to fish for psychological notes. "So, tell me about your band."

Freddie just looked at me, shook his head. "You don't even know what we're called?"

"Wasn't it something royalty-related? Like Queens, or something-"

"Just one Queen. But right."

_That's for sure_ , I chuckled to myself. "How long have you guys been together?"

"About six years or so. We're rock and roll. I know that's not really your cup of tea, but to other people we're fairly big."

"Apparently." Everyone under forty who had seen us about in the streets that day stopped and stared, and a few fans who got past Rudy tiptoed up to Freddie and all but begged for his autograph.

"All those people following you around," I mused, turning into a therapist for a moment. "No privacy. Cameras in your face all the time. Does that ever get tiresome?"

He stretched his legs luxuriously. "I love it. I mean, there are times of course where I wish that I could, um- but nothing's perfect, you know what I mean? I'd rather be somebody than nobody."

"I'm just the opposite. I'll take my privacy and quiet little world. Keep the cameras."

He smirked, rolling his eyes. "Just words, dear. Deep down, everyone wants to be a star."

"White dwarf or blue supergiant?"

Freddie recoiled dramatically. "Oh, no! This is a cosmic universe-astronomy-science free zone! You want to talk like that, hide in Brian's closet next time!"

I laughed. _Oh! Speaking of science_ , I said to myself. _I should be getting that call from Dr. K pretty soon._ I reached into my shirt and checked my tracker for the blue light.

But I saw no blue light. I frowned. There wasn't even a red light. 

The tracker wasn't glowing at all.

"That's weird," I said aloud, my pulse quickening. 

Freddie turned. "What?"

"The light's out," I said. I thought of the Relic. Maybe it was off, or had run out of power. I reached into my backpack, rummaged around for it. I looked again. Then I started pulling things out, ran my hand along the bottom. Double checked. Triple checked. Checked my pockets. My heart fluttered. 

I couldn't find it.

"Oh no," I whispered. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."

Freddie looked concerned. "What's wrong, darling?"

"The Relic's gone." 

"What?"

"That little phone I showed you! It's gone! Do you have it?" _  
_

"Who wants to know?"

_"FREDDIE!"  
_

"Sorry. No, I don't." _  
_

"Oh, God," I murmured, putting my face in my hands. _Don't panic, Julia, don't panic, maybe you left it at his apartment-_ But I hadn't! I was certain of it. I remembered checking the Relic some time today, and setting it down-

Oh, crap. I might have left it in one of the dressing rooms!

"Freddie, we've got to go back," I stated.

"What?"

"I left it behind! I have to go find it!"

"Relax, it's just a phone."

"JUST A-" I cut myself off, tried to calm down, forced myself to remember that this was my fault, not his. I started again, my voice a squeak of emotion, "It is not just a phone, Freddie, it is my way back! This thing only works well enough to tell me if they have my signal; the Relic sends the signal!"

He waved at my panic attack like he would shoo away a fly. "This is simple. I'll buy you a new one."

I lost it. "Throwing money at a problem doesn't work, Freddie! That phone was my way home, without it I'm stuck here bothering you! I have to go get it because THOSE THINGS DON'T EXIST YET! YOU CAN'T JUST GO FIND ANO-"

"Darling, control yourself." Freddie's voice was stern. "Breathe."

He held my face in his hands. I closed my eyes and breathed. 

When I'd settled down, he let go and continued, "Look. It's bound to be gone by now. Little technology bits like that don't last long when they're left alone. Someone probably has it."

"Are you saying I shouldn't even go look for it?" I stared at him in disbelief.

"I just don't think it's worth your while. In fact, I know it's not. Let's go home. For all you know, you might have left it somewhere there."

"But I had it with me today-"

"Are you sure?"

"I did!" I cried. And then my head played that age-old trick. As soon as I needed clarity in the cerebrum, it was as though some cloth slid across my mind's eye, and I could remember no moment where I checked the Relic while out today. It had become second nature to me, by now, just like when I used to look over the headlines in class; I did it absent-mindedly, without paying much attention. I couldn't recall the Relic and the stores together at the same time. 

"Didn't I?" I murmured. My head ached from thinking so hard, trying to remember. I put my face into my hands, leaned against my knees. Frightened tears were coming. _Breathe, stupid,_ I kept telling myself. _Breathe, like he said. Do not cry in front of him. That won't make you sympathetic, that'll make you chick-y, and right now that won't help._

"Hey," he said softly as his smooth hand started rubbing a circle into my back, "don't cry. It's all right. Everything's all right." 

"I'm not going to cry," I managed. And I didn't. Crying is the worst, and I'm absolutely hideous when I do. "I just can't remember."

"Dear, don't worry. I've had a lovely time with you today. Don't let's end it in tears. Whatever is the matter, it's all going to work out in the end."

"Easy for you to say," I whispered into my hands. "You're not trapped in the land of Yesteryear." 

"What's that? Didn't hear you."

I sat up. "Nothing." I felt the blood slowly leave my cheeks, and my breathing leveled out again. "I'm okay. Just hope you don't mind me turning the flat upside down once we get back."

"Now, that's my Evie!" he sang, and threw his arms around my neck. As if from a distance, I noticed how my skin prickled at his touch. I didn't know what to make of the feeling, so I made nothing of it at all. To be nice, I put one arm round his waist and hugged back. Such a tactile character.

"As for me," Freddie went on, "I'm going to step out right after dinner, there's something I've got to go, um, talk with the boys about."

"Sounds good," I nodded, but I clenched my fists so tightly my knuckles turned pale. Freddie was probably right. At least, that's what I deeply hoped. I had to find the Relic. Or else I was stuck here for the rest of my life with no identity, and no family, and no purpose.

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Birdman's Eye View: Perfect Timing

It's fifteen past nine.  I smile to myself; the night is still young.  

I love Sundays, especially Sundays off tour.  There's just something so peaceful about them.  Maybe it's because we treat it as a holiday from each other.  Queen, I mean.  I love those guys, I suppose, but there are times when I would just prefer not to occupy the same room as they for even five minutes.

I'd spent all day with my family -went to church, walked about Hyde Park (such a beautiful day for a jolly stroll), played with my son Robert- but now, these heavenly twenty-four hours draw to a close, and at last arrives the moment I've been waiting for all week.  

I hear footsteps come down the hall.  It's my lovely Veronica, who's just left Robert's bedroom.  Robert's almost two years old in a couple of weeks; he gets bigger every time I see him.  Veronica's smiling, showing her dimples.  She nods.  The little nipper's finally asleep.

She saunters over oh, so seductively, and slips her arms around my waist.  I feel a shiver swoop down my spine.  Veronica's hands travel up my chest, begin unbuttoning my shirt.  I bend my head and kiss her, letting my own hands go astray upon her body.  She undoes the first three buttons, then stops, pulls away, drifts back toward our bedroom.  I'm caught by her sexy smile, beckoning me to follow.  Helplessly, I obey.  

Veronica disappears into the bedroom, but not before pulling her soft blouse over her head and tossing it carelessly on the floor by the doorway.  I am wasting no more time.  

I take one step forward.

BANG BANG BANG!

Someone's fist pounds heavily on the front door.

Now I'm torn.  There's someone at the door, but my wife is in the bedroom, and I'm more than just in the mood.  I rebel for once and take another step.

Then a voice seeps into my flat between knocks. "John, it's Fred!  Open up!"

Freddie!  Oh, shit.  Perfect timing, Fred.  Thanks a lot.  Still, suddenly I'm not quite so frisky as to ignore him.  At least it's not the other two.  With a heavy sigh, I call to Veronica, "One moment, love."

I trudge to the front door and fling it open.  I make no secret of my annoyance.  "What?"

Freddie hurries inside without asking to be invited.  "Hey, John, sorry for showing up unannounced like this.  But it's very important."

I look him over and I'm surprised at what I see.  He's pale, his eyes wide with some intense emotion- whether it's fear or anxiety I'm not particularly sure.  But there's guilt somewhere in the mix, unquestionably.  There's no mistaking the glint of guilt.

"What's going on?" I ask.  "Is it that Eve?"

"Sort of.  It's got to do with her."

I cough.  "No.  I'm not getting into this.  Sorry.  That's Roger's area."

"It's not what you think."

"Then what?"

"I need your help."

"My help?"

Freddie looks down, almost ashamed, like a small boy who is caught pulling a girl's pigtails at school.  I notice for the first time he has his hands behind his back.  He brings them into the light now, and I squint at what he's holding on his left hand.  It's odd little electronic pieces; there's a miniature circuit board, a keypad, a flat square battery of a kind I've never seen before- and a cracked green screen.  Just above this screen, the word "NOKIA" is stamped.

"What is all this?" I ask.

"It's, um- it's called a Relic.  She calls it that."

"That doesn't help."

"It's some sort of phone, all right?" he says, quick-tempered with nerves.

I take the jumbled bits.  "Never seen a phone like this."

"Well, yeah, it sort of broke, so-"

"How?"

Freddie's face flushes.  "That's not necessary, is it?"

"Yes, actually.  I gotta know how it was smashed up this way before we can go forward."

He sighs, bites his lip, then explains.  "We were out shopping, and her bag was open, and I saw it, so I pulled it out to look at it some more-"

"And you dropped it?"

"No.  Look at this thing.  I could drop it from an airplane window and there wouldn't be a scratch."

"Then, what?"

"It started making noise.  Little bip-bip sounds.  I was looking at it, and I didn't see where I was going.  I tripped over my own feet."

"Ooo," I say, wincing.  "And this went down first, huh?"

"Bam!  This hand was first to hit the floor.  Smashed to pieces, this clear part here cracked-"

"The screen?"

He snaps irritably, "Who cares?  Point is, it's f---ing broken and I need you to fix it for her- for us."  Then Freddie remembers what a jackass he's being, and he adds, "Please.  It means a lot to her.  Apparently it's like her Passport for something."

I try to give him a discouraging look.  "What did she say?"

"She doesn't know."

"You didn't tell her?"

"I said it was missing.  She's looking for it at my flat as we speak."

This is too much.  "Oh my God, Freddie-"

"Well, what would you do in my place?"

I forget to be careful, and talk to him like a friend.  "I dunno, but I wouldn't lie to her.  I know that much."

"I didn't want her angry at me.  I'd rather her have a mild breakdown than see me as a clumsy asshole."  

I stare at him, his lopsided logic defying my understanding.

Freddie doesn't appreciate being told he's taken the wrong approach.  He asks, "So can you fix it, you think?"

"I can't fix it tonight," I say.  I think of Veronica, who's waiting patiently fifteen feet away.

"You don't have to, so long as you fix it.  Can you?  You're my only hope."

I take a deep breath.  "Freddie, I'm not making any promises.  I've never seen anything like this in my life."

"But darling, you're an electrical genius!  You built your own amp, for God's sake.  This should be a breeze!"

"I'm going to try," I tell him.  To myself I marvel, _This is new for me.  Never had to save_ your _ass before._

He smiles tightly.  "That's all anyone can ask."  For a minute it looks like he's going to go in for a hug, as he does with nearly everyone else, but instead he just puts his hands on my shoulders and stands there, as if he's leaning on me for support.  Maybe he is.

Suddenly he looks down at my collar.  His mouth curves suggestively, and he's Freddie again.  "Oh, dear, did I interrupt you two?"

He's staring at my open shirt.  I pull away, mortified.  "Oh, sod off."

Freddie laughs and starts for the door.  Before I can stop myself I ask, "So, is she your type?"

He glances back, and for the briefest of seconds his expression melts again.  He looks almost shy as he opens his mouth, then closes it, seemingly lost for words.  But he settles with a shrug and a wink.  Whatever message he's just sent has flown completely over my head.

Opening the door, Freddie waves and coos, "I'll let you two get back to work."  And he's gone.

I roll my eyes, and lay the phone bits on my desk.  I hardly know where to begin with this little monster.  I've never really tinkered with telephones, let alone cordless mini phones.  But Freddie is counting on me, and I'll die before I let him down.  I firmly believe he's the reason I'm in this band.  I owe him enormously.  I figure it's the least I can do.

"Is he gone?" Veronica's creamy voice floats in the air.

"Oh, he's gone," I reply.  I start walking her way.

"What did he want?"

"Nothing.  Just saying hello."  I'm in the bedroom, and there she is.  

Veronica holds out her hands.  "Come say hello to me."

I feel like the luckiest man in the world.  I seize her hands in mine and draw her soft white body up against me.  I love her so.

We kiss.  I gaze down into her sweet eyes and smile.  "Hello."

 


	16. Slippers, Sins, and Stomps

I said I would turn Freddie's flat upside down.  Well, I did.  As soon as I'd cleaned up the kitchen (and the roast chicken was delicious, if I do say so myself, even Freddie proclaimed it excellent), I attacked the couch cushions, scoured the shelves, peered under the furniture.  I checked the cabinets, and even glanced into the freezer in case I'd been so dense as to store the Relic there for future freshness.  

The search halted for the night as I caught up with Day 3's happenings in my journal, and continued again early the next morning, because when your existence hangs in the balance of whether or not you find your phone, you don't sleep too soundly.

When Freddie came downstairs, I still hadn't given up.  I'd shoved myself behind the entertainment center to such a degree that the only visible parts of me were the bottom part of my striped pajamas and my bare feet.  

A shadow fell over me.  Squinting up, I found Freddie's silhouette looming in front of my light.  

"Good morning," he said.  

"Hi!  Did I wake you?"

"No, I just felt like getting up early.  Found the buried treasure yet?"

"Not yet, I started the tea, it should be boiling in a minute or two," I said, pointing at the kitchen.  

He folded his arms.  "Eve.  You're not wearing those slippers I bought you."

I rolled my eyes.  _Is this important, Freddie?  Does this look like a good time?_   "I don't wear slippers."

"You don't?"

"No.  I'd go barefoot everywhere if I could, even in public."

"Why didn't you say something?"

I tried to sit up, and failed.  "I did.  You just weren't listening."

He shifted out of the light's way and knelt down by my defenseless feet.  "You really should. Wear slippers, I mean.  They're great protection."

I knew as soon as I asked this, I was done for.  "From what?"

"From evil people who do this."  

Freddie ran his finger along the arch of my foot.  I couldn't stand it.  I'm not even ticklish anywhere else, but my feet, especially my arches, are my Achilles heel (no pun intended).  I kicked at him.  

"Well, at least we know your reflexes work," he said thoughtfully.  And kept tickling me.

"You dog!  Stop!  This is serious-" I gasped, waving my feet in the air so he couldn't touch them.  

He sighed, grabbed my left foot and did his worst.  "You have such a sexy way of flailing about.  How do you do it?"

"Oh!" was all I could splutter- not out of anger, but because I couldn't keep myself from laughing.  Then I realized I couldn't sit up and I cried, "Why don't you do something useful for once and help me out of here?"

"All right, all right."  Freddie stood and put his hand out.  I took it and he pulled me back upright.  I found that his hair was tousled, he hadn't shaved, and he wore nothing but a robe (or as the English say, a dressing gown) under which his bare chest was half-exposed.  He'd probably just rolled out of bed.  Still, I couldn't help thinking he looked cute this way.

"Thanks," I growled facetiously.

He beamed, saying, "Where _would_ you be without me, darling?"

I made a big show of not wanting to answer that.  "I'll, ahem, go and make the tea now."

I rushed into the kitchen where the teapot shrieked like a banshee.  Freddie had shown me on Day 2 how to put together a proper cup of tea.  On this fourth day, though I had it down pretty pat, I missed my father's coffee back home.  Tea's great and all, but I'll stick to my cup of Joe with two sugar cubes and a spot of cream.

But tea in the morning was a small price to pay as opposed to sleeping on a park bench somewhere.  I switched on the radio, and heard Donna Summer doing what she did best, singing "I Feel Love" against Giorgio Moroder's trailblazing synth programs.  I'd forgotten we were in the apex of the disco era, and while most disco bores me to death, I loved this song.

"What would you like for breakfast?" I asked Freddie, who was taking the cups out of the cabinet.

 "I'm not too hungry this morning.  You can make me an omelet or something tomorrow."

"Assuming you let me stick around that long, right?"

"Right.  I may turn you in still, though I'm pretty sure you'd have a hard time getting all your clothes and stuff into the cell.  Maybe I can reserve a suite for you."  Face deadpan, but eyes otherwise, he plucked a ripe, yellow banana from the bunch.

"You and your bananas," I smiled, and sang under my breath, "Ooo, so good, it's so good..."

"You know this song?" Freddie asked.

"Oh, yes, I love Giorgio Moroder.  Not so much Donna Summer, but Moroder is the best." I said, then realized I could be giving myself away by spouting so much about so new a song.  _I mustn't get careless.  I know it's been three full days now, but I need to stay in control._

Freddie didn't notice, too busy was he stirring his tea.  He said through bites of banana, "It only came out a couple of days ago.  I heard it in the car coming back last night."

"Do you like it?"

"I love the beat, but on the whole it's a bit, um, repetitive for my taste," he said.  "I can't see myself writing a song like this."

_Give it four years, Freddie,_ I thought.  _You will.  Give it seven, you'll be working side by side with this guy._

He went on, "Funny, I never would have pegged you as a disco girl."

I shook my head.  "I'm not, really.  Disco girls dance.  I can't."

His eyes gleamed.  "Prove it."

"Oh, no.  I haven't had my tea yet."

"I'm sure you're a wonderful dancer.  You don't give yourself enough credit."

I shrugged.  "You going into the studio today?"

"I am.  How about you?"

"I'm continuing my quest for the Relic.  I'm going to go back to the stores and ask around, see if any Good Samaritans brought it to the front."

"So it didn't turn up?"

I shook my head.  "I've looked everywhere but your room, and I know beyond a doubt it's not there."

"Why wouldn't it be there?"

"Because it's the one place I haven't trespassed."

Freddie again looked shocked.  "Not once?"

"Not once.  It's your bedroom, I don't have the right."  To myself I added, _I could walk in and see something that I really didn't want to see, so I'm just staying out of it._

I think he might have been a little disappointed.  "Don't you ever do _anything_ risky, dear?"

"Not if I can help it.  I've got a life plan."

"Forget a life plan.  Life doesn't like plans.  You need a vice.  I'm going to find you one."

"You have my permission to give me a vice as soon as I find the Relic.  Deal?"

"What if you don't find it?"

"Oh, God, Freddie, don't say that, don't even think it," I murmured with a shudder.  The tracker round my neck was still dead.  My stomach flipped as I again considered the very real chance of the worst-case scenario.

Freddie put his hand, warm from holding the cup of tea, over mine.  "I'm sorry, Evie.  I didn't mean it like that.  I don't want to frighten you."  

"You don't have to.  I'm already frightened."  Behold, probably the most honest thing I'd said to Freddie yet.

"Darling," he purred, putting his arms around me once more.  His cheek was rough and scratchy against mine; I loved it.  The feeling, of course, not him.  I'm weird like that.  It could have been from anyone, just simple physical responses.  But it helped.

"It's all right," I said, pushing away from him a bit.  "Of course, I know what this is.  It's karma."

"How could this possibly be karma?"

"This is what I get for not going to church yesterday."

"There!  You see?  If you sin big a little more, God won't notice the small stuff quite so much and then things like this won't happen."  He snapped his fingers as if that explained everything.

I laughed, "I'm not sure that's how it works, Freddie-"

"Yeah, yeah, well that's how it ought to work, anyway.  But my God, we've got to get you to remember to break the rules.  I can't do it all for you, you know!"

****************************************************************************************

**_Day 4:  My favor du jour: I addressed and stamped and sent off formal invitations for some sort of party Freddie is hosting in a week or so.  I'm kind of a jack of all trades lately.  I almost feel useful._ **

**_Relic is still missing.  I've been everywhere twice in a row, it feels like.  Every time I've seen a department store, like Harrods or any of those other places, I get this impulse to run in there and ask if anybody's found a cell phone (as if anyone knows what that is). I may develop OCD because of this, and Dr. K, that will all be on you.  I've spent hours retracing my steps of yesterday.  I'm okay if after this is said and done, I never see another JCPenney or Macy's or anything like that as long as I live.  But I'm terrified I won't-_ **

Sitting in the back of a cab, I furiously rubbed out the last five words, then continued, striving for optimism:

**_I can't give up.  There's still such things as miracles.  But I'm on borrowed time here, and I don't want to know what Freddie will do when he finally tires of me._ **

**_N.F.O.s: He loves bananas.  At this stage, not crazy about synth programs.  This will change in a matter of years.  A very willing comforter when I get upset.  Complete logic-free zone, says things that make no sense whatsoever and somehow gets away with it.  And he smells like licorice._ **

I stopped, squinted at the last sentence I'd written.  It was true, Freddie did smell like licorice.  I'd discovered that when he hugged me that morning.  But why was that necessary to write down?  I didn't even like licorice. _  
_

_But it's not too bad on him.  Not bad at all.  Mmmm.  
_

"What am I saying?" I cried aloud.  

"Miss?" said the cabbie.

"Oh, sorry, nothing," I muttered, and tucked my journal into my backpack.  I was making one last stop before heading back to Freddie's flat.  I highly doubted I'd come away successful there, but I was leaving no stone unturned.

At last, the cab arrived.  "Wessex Studio," my driver announced.  

I thanked him and paid him his dues (and if you're wondering where I was getting all this money to do everything I was doing, Freddie was giving me a kind of an allowance for things like cab fare, which I found to be very awkward since I make my money, I don't like being given it; I didn't want Freddie to be my sugar daddy, but at this point I guess he sort of was).  

When I entered, however, I saw the studio was open, and from within all these excited voices were talking at once. I tiptoed to the doorway and very carefully peeked inside.  

"There's another one, Bri!" Roger's voice whistled. 

"Perfect.  Grab him!" he shouted through the intercom.

Next thing I knew, Roger was barreling toward me.  "Hey, can we borrow you a mome-" he began, before he recognized me.  His eyes lit up.  "Eve!  Fantastic to see you!  Come with me."

"What's going on?"  I asked as he dragged me through the control room.  

"We need your feet," he said.  

"My feet?"

"And your hands."  

"Why not take all of me?" I sang- a very corny joke, I decided.  But Roger didn't immediately answer.  We were now standing in the recording area, along with about fifteen other people, most of whom were perched upon the drum risers. Others balanced upon boards. 

Now Roger turned, grinned his wide white grin, and said, "If you're good, I will." 

He looked like he intended to say (or do) more, but Brian interrupted.  "Okay, there's room for one more up here in the corner.  Come on, love.  Set your things down over there.  Good.  Now, if you'll just stand up here by this lovely lady, we'll be golden."

Brian had me stand next to that receptionist who'd been so terse with me when I stopped at Wessex with the wine.  I smiled at her, and she looked back at me as if I had two heads.  I sighed.  _Life's too short, dearie._

_"_ Are we taking pictures?" I asked aloud.  I saw John on the other end of the risers.  I waved.  For a minute he looked startled to see me, then waved back.  

Now Brian clapped his hands for attention.  "Right.  Now, let's go over this again.  Very simple.  When that light in the corner turns on, Roger's going to count off one, two, three, four.  And then, just follow me.  When you hear the buzzer, stop.  Are we clear?  Splendid.  Let's do it one time for practice."

_Where's Freddie?_ I wondered to myself.  I craned my neck, looking for him, till finally I spotted him in the recording booth.  _What gives?  Why isn't he out here with the rest?  Four days I've been with this guy and I haven't even seen him in action yet.  
_

Roger's raspy voice snapped me back into focus.  "One, two, three, four!"

Everyone started stomping.  For one split second I was confused.  In the very next it all made sense.  And I nearly died of excitement.

Stomp-Stomp-Clap.

Stomp-Stomp-Clap.

Oh, God, YES!  

I don't ever use the word "stoked" the way my generation uses it.  I'd never had reason to till that moment.  Because man, I was so stoked, I squealed like a little girl.  

And everyone heard it.  Brian whirled, stopping the practice run, and all the faces turned to look at me.  But I was on another plane of consciousness. 

That is, until the intercom crackled, and Freddie's voice filled the room.  "Hi, Eve."

My cheeks were on fire, but I still waved coquettishly.  A few people tittered.

"Dear, we're not putting vocals on this track yet, but thanks for the impromptu there," he said.

I gave him a thumbs up.  Brian rolled his eyes.  I don't think he ever cared too much for me.  But that's fine.  They still let me stay.

Taking a deep breath, Brian then said, "All right.  This is the real one.  No squeals, please."

"One, two, three, four!"

This time, I did it right.  I was about to bust apart at the seams, but I kept it together until they were satisfied with the cut, which was about nine takes later.  Bloody perfectionists.

But I was there.  And I can tell you now, with God as my witness, that every time you hear "We Will Rock You" and the thunder of fifteen pairs of feet booms through your stereo, two of those feet belong to me.  Two of those clapping hands are fastened to my wrists.  

Therein is my claim to fame: I was among the first to perform "We Will Rock You."  

And it was solely because of this unparalleled euphoria, what I did as soon as I got home...

 

 


	17. Hey, Mercurena

Look, I was excited, all right? It may not seem like anything to scream about to you, but let's remember please that in all the forty plus years since "We Will Rock You" came out, it's been on the lips of every sports enthusiast and the hearts of every competitive spirit, and the beat belongs to that song and that song only. And I was there. And so was Freddie. And so was John. And so were Mr. Clogs and Sneakers Guy- I mean, Brian and Roger (old habits die hard). And this is a story only I and fifteen other people can share.

When they finally let us go, I did a quick search through the control room. Of course, I came away empty-handed. Under any other circumstances I would have been terrified. But We Will Rock You weathered that storm and then some. I needed to get out of there, let off some steam. 

I picked up my things and started out. Freddie caught me by the door, asked me if I wanted to stay and watch while he recorded the vocals. 

In my heart I shouted "YES YES YES!" But I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from spazzing. _Remember. Be impressed, but no wild fanatic outbursts. Save it for later._ "Thank you, though. When can I expect you home?"

"Oh, not for another four hours or so. So that gives you plenty of time to go crazy."

"I don't get crazy."

"Uh- _huh_ ," he said, none-too-convinced. "So you don't dance and you don't get crazy and God frowns when you don't go to church. Right. Anything else?"

"Yes. I have to go. I'll see you in a few hours." This time I was the one delivering the hug- a quick one, not too tight, but a hug all the same.

"What? No goodbye kiss for me?" Roger said, crossing his arms.

I rolled my eyes. "Here," I replied, and blew him a kiss. I knew that wasn't what he meant, but the stunned, I-must-be-losing-my-touch look on his face was well worth it. "Goodbye, John!"

"Bye," he called back. Sweet, sweet man.

I didn't say anything to Brian. I don't think he even noticed I'd left.

I hurried out for a cab, my feet barely touching the ground. By the time I'd come back to Freddie's flat, I was higher than the afternoon clouds. I ran inside and locked the door.

Silence. Oscar padded over and greeted me. Tiff gave me a cordial nod. Tom slept.

And I exploded.

"DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?" I shouted. "DID THAT JUST SERIOUSLY HAPPEN? OH MY GOD!" My voice rang against the walls, as if answering me that yes, that just happened.

I scooped Oscar up off the floor and didn't even sneeze. The adrenaline pumped too hard to accommodate my allergies today. I danced about the living room and into the kitchen. I'd never felt so absolutely high in my life. 

I fixed myself a sandwich, gulped it down and called it an early dinner. I kept screaming at random intervals. I'm sure the neighbors were listening in, wondering what the heck a girl with Tourrette's was doing in Freddie's apartment. 

Even Oscar seemed to ask, "Are you all right, Eve? Do I need to call somebody?"

Usually, after such a trip, I'd come down in a matter of minutes, but I only seemed to rise higher, like some overachieving hot air balloon. Some of it I believe was plain old anxiety; I hadn't forgotten I was trapped, perhaps with no way home. But mostly, of course, it was the fact that I was living every Queen fan's fantasy- and with the two slamming together, it was almost more than I could handle. I needed to release some of this energy. And fast. I was about to pop.

I sped to Freddie's record collection. I flipped through each one. While they were mostly all good albums (if you can excuse the Bad Company and _Cabaret_ soundtrack), none of them were powerful enough to suit my purposes. 

"Where's some good old 80's and 90's techno when you need it?" I cried. "Drums, man! Drums!"

All you millenials or Gen Y's or Gen Z's or whatever like me out there, who think you belong in the seventies because you were born too late and if only you could have been there when they were around and who needs the Internet and yadda yadda yadda, make no mistake. _We are millenials._ We can be nothing else. And we millenials love our iTunes and our workout mixes and our playlists from all decades. And right that moment I wanted some 90's goodness.

I recalled my phone. My smart phone, not the Relic. There were 90's dance tunes in my playlist. But Androids have little volume capacity by themselves, as we all know. Trying to get funky with a bare-bones Android speaker is like trying to get a suntan on an overcast day. I was in a sub-woofer mood. And this wasn't a sub-woofer era.

My eyes drifted to the staircase and alighted on the intercom. I grinned. Oh. Yes.

I rummaged through my backpack and drew out my smart phone. I turned the thing on and praised God that I still had half the battery juice left (I've never been very good at keeping up with my charger, but I actually brought it with me this time; I resolved to charge it that night). Quickly I hurried to the wall. There was a small shelf just underneath the microphone; it was as though they'd designed it just for me. 

Leaning the phone against the mike, I tapped to my Music folder and found my 90's Playlist. I hit Shuffle and crossed my fingers.

The little progress bar started moving, but no sound was coming out. I had the thing on Mute! What a drag. I stopped the music again, turned the sound up full blast. And then, before it slipped my mind, I turned on every speaker in the flat, and set the volume dial as high as it would go. 

I was about to become the bane of Freddie's neighbors' existences. I could be jeopardizing future musicians. I didn't care. I had a hunger to satisfy.

I pressed Play.

And the best, worst, most wonderful, most terrible song that could have played, burst around me. It started with "M-A-C-A," ended with "E-N-A," and had an "R" somewhere in the middle.

No I'm not kidding. It was the Macarena. I love that stupid song, always have. A clave Latin rhythm, electronic dance vibes, attitude. Just what I needed- and it's probably the one song I can dance to without utterly humiliating myself. But right then I wasn't even worried about that.

I whooped and started dancing around like I'd never danced before, swinging my hips and waving my arms. I would never dance this way in public- and stone cold sober. But there was no one around to watch me except the cats. And cats don't care. I felt free. I refused to think about the Relic, and chose to revel for the next four minutes in sweet, unchained denial. 

"He was out of town," I lipsynced, widening my eyes, "and his two friends were soooo fine!"

Picture this, and see if it isn't the image of release: some barefoot college girl in khakis and a seventies' halter top blowing off steam by doing some wild, bohemian dance moves that bordered on suggestive. With the Macarena at full blast. All alone in Freddie Mercury's apartment. 

Or so I thought.

"Hey, Macarena!" I shouted, louder every time. I reclined myself as alluringly as I could, tossed my head and lay back like I was inviting someone to ravage me right there on the carpet. Then I leapt back to my feet, sashayed over toward the piano and leaned up against it. I pretended the object of my seduction was sitting on the bench. I moved my hand in the air, as if stroking his imaginary face.

"I am not trying to seduce you," I purred to nobody.

I raced up the stairs, and realized I'd actually never slid down a banister before. The music emboldened me. I straddled the railing and let myself go. Toward the bottom, I did fall off, but I landed gracefully, much to my surprise. I hopped back to my feet, whirled past Freddie and shimmied on over to-

Wait a minute.

I turned around. My jaw dropped and my eyes were ready to escape their sockets. I don't know long he'd been watching me. From the way he was smiling, I'd say long enough.

The two of us just stood there a second. I should have scurried out of sight, curled up in a corner, and died. But I didn't. Instead, I kept up the act. 

"Come join me, dance with me," I sang, throwing myself around no less than before. 

I danced toward him while he laughed out loud and tried to copy my movements. I know I probably looked ridiculous, but Freddie wasn't much better. He did a few of his stage moves, strutted around me, finally put his arms around my waist from behind and we swayed in sync to the music. It wasn't exactly Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, but you couldn't find two more blissful people than Freddie and I, dancing out of step but still together.

"I thought you didn't dance," he said as we moved back and forth.

"What?"

He tried again, shouting over the music, "I said, _I thought you didn't dance_!"

"I don't, usually."

Freddie smirked. "Oh, darling, you're so full of shit."

"Hey! Besides, I didn't say I didn't, I said I can't!"

"Then what are we doing right now? Knitting?"

"It's called a catharsis, Freddie. My soul was in need."

He rolled his eyes and huffed. "Leave it to you to make something cerebral out of this."

"And let's hear from you! What are you doing back so soon?"

"Why, I missed you. I can't keep away from you, of course." 

"The Crap is strong with you, my friend. You said you weren't coming home for a few hours!"

"Did I? Well, you said you don't get crazy. Yet I've just caught you with your hand in the biscuit tin. Let's call it even. And what is this song? Is that Spanish?"

"Something you've never heard before," I said vaguely, and I added to myself, _and probably never will again_. 

For the first time in four days, it occurred to me. My bubble popped, and I plunged back to Earth. I was dancing with a dead man. 

I stopped moving, my body going stiff. Freddie felt the change. "What's wrong, dear?"

It was then that the Macarena ended, and a different, earlier 90's song began to play. Conga drums echoed from the walls. I went pale and broke away from Freddie. I bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, switched off the speakers, yanked my phone away from the mike, shut it off before the voice shattered Time as I knew it, as well as Freddie's good spirit. 

"What's gotten into you, Eve?" he said, following me. 

"Nothing, nothing." I hid my Android behind my back. _Is it too late to hide behind the Three Commandments_? I asked myself.

He cocked his head. "What have you got there?"

"Nothing."

"Is that where the music was coming from?"

"No."

"Rubbish! Let me see."

I shook my head. "My magic mirror is for me and me alone." _Magic mirror? Oh, dang. Now he'll never let up about it!_

"Magic mirror? You don't say! Let's show it who's fairest, yeah?" He put out his hand.

Freddie's phone rang. I closed my eyes in relief. 

He growled in his throat. "Ugh. That'll be the boys. I said I was stepping out, just didn't say how far out. I'm on my way!" He shouted at the phone. 

"I'm sure they heard you," I said dryly.

"As for you," Freddie turned to me, drawing himself up formidably. I thought for a moment he was going to force the Android from my hands. But he did the exact opposite. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

"You're awfully cute, my dear- especially when you think you're invisible," he said. "We must dance that dance again some time. What's it called?"

I blinked, and mixed my words up. I wasn't expecting the kiss. "'S called, um, the Mercurena."

"Mercurena? Oh, I like that. Like it was meant for me."

"Well actually, I meant- okay. Yeah. Sure. Now, be off with you. Don't keep the boys waiting."

He didn't. With a little wink, he spread his legs across the banister and slid down. Just before he walked out, he called, "Thanks a lot, Eve. I'm going to have the Mercurena stuck in my head all night."

"Don't mention it," I said. "Bye-bye."

When the door closed, I put the Android underneath my bureau. Didn't that just figure. Now while I searched and prayed for one phone to appear, I had to hide the other. 

Later I added to the journal:

_**Day 4 (cont.): I provided percussion on We Will Rock You, and danced the Macarena with Freddie. He calls it the Mercurena. So cute.  
** _

I looked at that last line, almost erased it, but I kept it. Just a mild expression of opinion, right?Still, I took a decidedly more clinical approach in the next section: _ **  
**_

**_N.F.O.s: Becoming progressively more tactile. I must be on my guard. Also need to keep the Android out of his reach. He knows about it now, and he's got a boundless curiosity. If I'm not careful, he'll find it. I don't know what all I've got on there, but right now it's things he doesn't need to know about. I'll decide later if that should change._ **

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Julia + Mary = Awkward

The next morning, I didn't really have to wake up.  I'd been lying in bed eyes wide open almost all night, forcing myself to stay conscious.  So once again I ended up starting the day before the sun had even risen.  I was exhausted, but what was a little grogginess when I was keeping a clear head?

For when I'd finally set my journal down and put myself to bed, I sank immediately into a dream.  A strange, unsettling dream.  

 Through a mauve mist, I found myself walking.  I couldn't see where I was going; the fog before me was too thick.  Looking down, I saw my hands were tied.  I tried to break the cords, but they held me fast.  All I could do was keep walking blindly.  

Then I heard another set of footsteps, not my own, coming toward me.  I stopped, my feet suddenly fastened to the ground where I stood.  But the other person didn't.  He or she kept coming.  My heart pounded.  I wanted to cry out.  But my lips were sewn together in fear, and I could not make a sound.

Suddenly a faint silhouette appeared a few feet from where I stood.  The person stopped advancing, and reached a hand out to me.  I trembled.  I couldn't move away, and I couldn't take their hand.  I didn't even know which one was the right thing to do.  

I tossed about in my sleep, my eyelids fluttering as I struggled to escape the nightmare.  But it wasn't until the person's shadow snapped out of sight with the abrupt violence of a rubber band drawn too tight, that I had the voice to scream and a second later wake up.

Freddie hadn't come back by that point, luckily, so I wasn't a nuisance to anyone save Oscar sleeping at the foot of the bed.  I sat up, freaked and befuddled.  _I wish I'd paid more attention to the Jung chapter in class,_ I said to myself, _I could figure out what just happened to me!_

I had stayed awake for the rest of the night, thinking maybe that would make the nightmare vanish forever.  Little did I know I would soon accept that dream as my routine nightly torture.  

Now at (ugh) six-thirty in the morning, I yawned my way through a hot shower.  Wrapping a towel round me, I crept out of the bathroom and decided my long, wet hair wasn't enough of a reason not to lay down on the bed again, even for just a few minutes.  Through hazy, half closed eyes I pushed the ajar door open and curled up on top of the sheets.  

On the other side of the bed, which had somehow become twice as large as mine, I heard a quiet little snore.  In slight panic, I said to myself, _I smell licorice._

Very slowly, I turned and squinted.  There, against the pillow, just inches away from my face, was the vague outline of a hand.  As my weak eyes adjusted, I saw the clear cut of his profile, his mouth slightly open and relaxed.  The funniest little snoring sounds escaped his fine nose at random intervals.  My stomach wrung itself.  

_God!  Why does this sort of stuff keep happening?_

I had to beat it before Freddie knew I was here.  It was bad enough I'd made this mistake; I couldn't bear that smug little smirk this morning.  Without shaking the bed, I carefully slid one leg over the side, almost touched the floor when Freddie shifted in his sleep.  He moaned softly,and rolled onto his stomach.  I timed my movements to his.  In seconds I lifted myself off the bed.  But instead of rushing out, I stood watching him. _  
_

_What is this sorcery?_   I asked myself.  _Freddie Mercury all alone in bed? 1977.  He was a different man.  Not too different, true, but here's a guy who, while certainly not making a habit of it, can sleep by himself and be rested in the morning.  In five years- no,_ one _year, he'll get the shivers if he walks into an empty bedroom.  I'd love to find the reason for that change!_

After my inner psychologist had vented a bit, however, I was left to look him over.  He slept topless, that much was clear.  I was uncertain about the bottom half, however, and at this stage I didn't really care to know so much.  But with every second I spent ogling this sleeping man, the most peculiar notions swept me.  I wanted to run my hand along the curve of his bare shoulders.  I wondered how his thick hair would feel should I dare run my fingers through it.  And this thought came out of nowhere, as thoughts often do: _I wonder what would happen if I slipped under the covers without my towel-_

I slapped myself across the face.  Bad brain!  I'd been spending far too long in this man's company.  God, why did I have to lose that Relic?  

Freddie took a deep breath and moaned again.  I smiled. _All the same, that's one handsome man.  No doubt about it.  
_

Downstairs, the front door closed.  _Ah!  That must have been Freddie's sleeping buddy,_ I assumed.  _Bye-bye, one-night-stand, don't let the screen door hit you_.

Oh, yes!  I was making Freddie an omelet today.  I'd forgotten to see if I had everything.  I padded down the stairs toward the kitchen, humming under my breath.  

I turned the corner and bumped into the woman standing there.  She jumped back and I instinctively apologized, "I'm sorry, excuse me."  

"No, no, pardon m-" she began, when all of sudden both of us realized we weren't alone in the kitchen.  

I squinted.  Without my contacts, I could see little save that the woman was blonde and her hands were clasped against her middle.  

The woman cleared her throat.  "...And... who might you be?"

"I'm Eve," I said.  "Eve Dubroc."  I was getting more and more comfortable with my alter ego.

"An American," she murmured.  Her hands dropped limply.  "Is that your real name?"

"No, that's just the name he gave me."

She nodded.  "I thought so."

"And you?"  

"I'm a, um, I'm a friend of Freddie's."  I didn't need good eyesight to tell she was extremely uncomfortable.  Suddenly I remembered I wasn't wearing anything except a towel.  My face flushed.

"I'm terribly sorry about- this," I said quickly, gesturing at my attire, "I wasn't expecting to find anyone down here."

"Neither was I."  Her cool voice tightened.  "Maybe I've come at a bad time-"

"Oh, no!  Not at all.  Freddie's still sleeping, he should be up and about pretty soon though.  Would you like some tea?"

"I shouldn't have come so early."

_I'll take that as a no_.  "Please stay!  I'm sure he'll be very happy to see you.  Just let me go put something a little more decent on, and I'll tell him you're here."  I walked into the living room.  The blonde didn't move.

"You don't have to do that.  He wasn't expecting me.  I just haven't heard from him in a few days, and I thought I'd come around and make sure everything was all right."  She swallowed.  

Her voice finally rang a bell in my dull, sleepy brain.  I gradually put everything together.  My eyes widened.

"Miss Austin!" I cried.  "You're Mary Austin!"

As fuzzy as my vision was, I could see her jaw tense up.  "How would you know that?"

Good question!  How _would_ I know that?  And how bad must this look, me in a towel and talking about how Freddie's still asleep to his girlfriend?  Damage control!  I whipped up the worst lie possible.  

"Oh, he's told me so much about you," I gushed.  "He talks about you all the time, he's very fond of you.  He was just saying to me yesterday how much he loves-"

"Well, actually, we're recently separated, but we're still very good friends.  I thought that's what he wanted."  Mary's voice began to tremble.  

This wasn't going well.  I can only imagine what was running through her head.  "Miss Austin, this isn't what it looks like, I'm just living with him.  I mean, I'm not sleeping with him, we're not lovers by any stretch, there's no attraction whatsoever.  I'm in trouble, he's a nice man, and he's giving me shelter.  I can go get him for you, if you'll just let me put some clothes on..."

Mary stood there for a second, then slowly nodded.  "I do need to talk with him about something.  But you needn't wake him.  I can just as easily call-"

"I insist!  It's you, he won't mind, right?" I said, and started up the stairs. I hadn't even ascended halfway when Freddie's bedroom door opened.  _Gah!  No, Freddie!  You're too early!  Go back to bed!_

"Good morning, Evie," he boomed in his theatrical voice.  "How's my pretty little slave today?"

I cringed, and whirled.  He shuffled out in his robe, rubbing his eyes.   _Shut up, you idiot!_ I screamed in my mind _.  I'm trying to save our faces here!  
_

But he kept on talking. "It's so funny, I'm actually a little sore from last night!  We really should do that again _,_ I had the best time _,_ what about..." _  
_

Freddie trailed off.  Of the million things a person could imply from his words, few of them were good, none of them innocent.  I covered my face, grateful for once I couldn't see so I wasn't able to catch their mutual expressions as Freddie and Mary saw each other _.  
_

"Hi, Mary," he said after a few long seconds.  It was as though someone had tightened his vocal chords so that too loud a sound would snap the strings in half. _  
_

When I looked up, Mary had put her hands behind her back.  And in a quivering voice, she said at last, "Well.  This isn't exactly what I pictured when you told me you were- told me you had other interests."

"Darling, I can explain everything.  Eve and I are friends-" _  
_

"Freddie, there's no need to explain.  Of course you know I'm happy with whatever makes you happy _."_

"What?  No!  Mary, you've got this all wrong." _  
_

But she was already making for the exit.  Freddie hurried down the stairs, muttering "Splendid, just too f---ing splendid,"  and almost brushed right past me before he stopped.  He gave me a look that I can only describe as contemptuous.  His fists clenched, telling me he'd deal with me later,  and went back to chasing Mary, following her out the front door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Victim of Circumstance

Two minutes later, Freddie and Mary walked back into the flat.  I decided to make myself scarce; I ran upstairs.  On one hand, these two needed a little space.  But more personally, I wanted to postpone Freddie's wrath for as long as I was able.  I'd heard frightful rumors of his temper; even he said it was monstrous.  And from that withering look I'd received moments ago, I had effortlessly invoked it.  Lucky me.

First things first, I discarded my scandalous towel and put on the most chaste outfit I could find.  My heart ached in embarrassment enough for both Freddie and me.  _Why would she just barge in like that?_ I thought.  No knock, no call-ahead, no nothing.  Just a key into the hole, click-clack, and she was in.  What if he'd been in a, um, tricky position?  How would he explain that? 

_Maybe Mary's just a creature of habit.  I bet she used to live with him here.  I know they were close, right to the end._ My body numbed and prickled.  _Good grief, I hope I haven't ruined their friendship!_

I put my contacts into my eyes and saw myself clearly for the first time that morning.  I sighed in relief.  Since I am loath to remove my mascara at night, charcoal smudges of Maybelline and regular fatigue circled my eyes.  I looked wan, even my lips a whiter shade of pale.  And my hair, still wet, was beginning to frizz as it dried unevenly.  Nah.  Mary had nothing to worry about.  I was having a bad face day.

Still, I hoped this wouldn't drive a rift between them.  After piecing my looks back together, I silently went to my bedroom where I left the door cracked.  I knelt down and strained my ears to catch anything they said.  But they both spoke at the same level and temperature- calm and tepid, like a stagnant lake.  There wasn't anything frosty uttered, there wasn't much warmth; neither voice rose in passion, or sank in tears.  And so they continued for another easy thirty minutes.  As eavesdropping goes, I grew rather bored with the whole thing before too long.

Still, all that time I was crouched beside the door, writing furiously in my log:

**_Day 5: I'm in trouble.  Freddie's girlfriend (former? current? who can say?) Mary dropped in after I'd just gotten out of the shower, and found me in a towel.  She assumed the worst.  And Freddie's trying to cover his tracks.  Not sure how successfully.  Either way, I may be getting a notice of eviction fairly soon.  I'm trying not to let that worry me, but my stomach feels like a hornet's nest.  It's odd, considering what she put up with him doing all his life, that she should be so moved by this.  Oh, well.  Again, she's a different girl.  We change as we get older._ **

_**NFOs: Freddie seems very calm with her, but not necessarily in a good way.  Gray area type stuff.  I didn't know he was capable of it.  Gray areas are scary.  Hard to read.  He certainly doesn't go gray with me.  Wonder what that implies.** _

I heard the word "goodbye."  The front door opened; Mary was leaving.  I closed my eyes and breathed.  _I might as well just get this over with._

I tiptoed down the stairs- harder to do in wedges.  Quietly I waited till Freddie leaned in to kiss her goodbye ( _That's good, she believes him, mostly, or else I bet she wouldn't let him do that_ ) and he closed the door.

Freddie turned to face me.  His real expression, clearer now by contacts, unnerved me more than his first fuzzy one.  I dug my feet into the floor, nervously twirling the tracker round my finger.  I clenched my journal tightly in the other hand and bit my lip.  Here it came.

"Thanks, Eve," he snapped.  "Thanks for making my life twice as difficult.  Thanks a f---ing million."

I pretended not to understand anything that had just taken place.  I figured if plausible deniability had worked thus far, it wouldn't falter now.  _"_ What happened?  Is she okay?"

"I don't know.  Why do you care?"

"She seemed nice."

Freddie shrugged.  "She's a very dear friend to me.  I think she understood."

"Wonderful.  I don't want her to be upset."

He scoffed, "Well, isn't that sweet.  Pardon me while I applaud your virtue.  What little there is."

"Hey, look, I wasn't the one with the flip lip.  You did more damage than I!  What did I do, anyway?"

"Oh, you mean besides tripping about my flat half-naked with only a slight bit of terrycloth obscuring your nether parts?  Besides that?"

I wanted to slap him, but I remained outwardly reasonable.  "I'd just got out of the shower!  And I was tired, I forgot to take clothes in there with me."

"You know, for someone as proud of your privacy as you are, you certainly don't mind running around undressed where someone could see you."

"Oh, for crying out loud-"

"And words are words.  Images are quite another."

My whole being fought against the wish to call out this bald-faced hypocrisy.  "Freddie, you were asleep.  You were flat on your stomach, asleep.  And I didn't know people just walked in and out of your apartment like it's some public restroom.  I thought I was safe."

His eyebrows shot up.  "Flat on my stomach?" he said.  I covered my mouth, but it was too late.

The black eyes narrowed to serpent slits, and his voice became disgustingly oily.  "And, my dear, pray tell me, how _would_ you know so much about the way I sleep?"

"I- uh-  Wild guess?"

"Bullshit.  You went into my room.  And that-" he seized a lock of my damp hair "-explains the cool spot on my pillow."

"I didn't have my contacts in.  I'm going to go make some tea now."

I turned for the kitchen but he caught my wrist, held me there.  "You got in bed with me."

"It was an accident, I swear-"

That smirk.  Damn that cold, lewd smirk.  "My God, you _are_ some kind of closet call girl, aren't you?" 

"Speak for yourself," I scoffed.  My pride was taking a beating and my self-control was wearing thin. 

"Don't give me those high and mighty airs, Eve.  No wonder Mary thought what she thought.  Is that what you're here for after all?  A little action?  For your information, you're hardly my speed.  Just thought I'd tell you."

That one hurt.  I thrust my hand from his grasp. 

My lips curled, and the voice I heard escape my throat dripped with scorn. "Don't flatter yourself.  Believe me, had I had my wits about me, I would have gone anywhere but your bedroom.  If you think I want any piece of _you_ , you're sorely mistaken."

" _F--- off_!" he shouted, eyes hard.  "You think I'm so beneath you, there's the f---ing door, you have my express permission to use it now."

He didn't have to tell me twice.  I followed his pointing finger out and slammed the door.

***************************************************************************************

_Okay, I screwed this up_ , I told myself.  It was the fifty thousandth time I'd said it since I marched out of Freddie's flat that morning.  I had my journal and a few extra pounds miraculously wedged between the pages.  My backpack and everything else in the world I owned still sat quietly in my green bedroom- unless Freddie had been so righteously indignant as to throw all my stuff out in the garbage.  That would teach me to cross _him_!

Aloud I said, "I get it.  I royally screwed this up.  Can I go home now?"

"Sh!" someone hissed.  Rebuffed, I shrank back into my corner, silent.  Unlike at the university, you actually had to be quiet at Kensington Central Library. 

As soon as I closed the door, I had bolted down the street.  After a moment I slowed down, and halted.  My sanity gradually made a comeback, but a little too late.  I was two blocks away from his flat.  And his key.  Common sense tugged me back, but my ego pulled me further down the road. 

This is where my pride won, and betrayed me; common sense would do me the same favor later on. 

So began an aimless day consisting mostly of me walking the streets of London with nowhere to go and nothing to do.  It wasn't long before I started wishing I'd never seen Dr. K's ugly face and that I'd just accepted that those twenty points were gone forever and ever, amen. 

When the blisters on my heels became unbearable, and I needed a mouse hole to crawl into, I found a nice big library and made myself a quiet niche in the most boring, dry section of the building- right beside the technology manuals and electronic books and all.  No one would ever find me.

I'd overstepped myself. I knew that. But Freddie was being so cruel! How was I supposed to look the other way? How was I supposed to keep my mouth shut? I expected better from everyone, why shouldn't I expect the same from him? 

"Because he's different," I whispered aloud.  "He's special.  The laws of physics and the laws of nature don't apply to him.  He said so.  Ha ha.  God, I hate him so much right now.  I mean I don't, but I do."

I sighed, with a frightened little shudder.  I felt so alone.  I missed my old life.  I missed walking past Eminem lookalikes with backwards caps and hip-hop blaring out of some invisible speaker within their backpacks.  I missed not owing anybody except my parents anything.  I missed my job.  I missed my old quiet life of routine and familiarity and future plans.  Was that even my life?  Or had I imagined it all?  2017 seemed so far away after nearly five days of this British seventies' madness.  What, if anything, was real anymore? 

"Guys, come on," I groaned.  "Dr. K, didn't you leave some kind of backup plan in case of royal screw-ups?"

I flipped through the journal, turned to the back, but I found no Troubleshooting manual.  Sarcastically I wondered if one of those countless forms I had to complete included a clause that stated, "I hereby release the aforementioned proctors of this experiment from any and all responsibility, including but not limited to bringing me back in one piece from whatever hellish gulag to which they may accidentally ship me."

I don't ever swear, unless I'm feeling it.  You know what I mean.  And right then, I was feeling it.

" _Damn_ it all, if my life isn't positively _effed_ ," I said under my breath (and yes, I said, "eff", I had never been very good at cursing).  I couldn't help but notice the involuntary bounce in my voice, placing emphasis on odd syllables the way the British do.  The way Freddie did.

Then I realized that while I was indeed pining away for home, a part of me also pined away for the only real stronghold I had here.  And that made no sense.  Freddie was unpredictable, and cheeky, and insinuating.  And that morning, he'd acted a perfect louse.  But I clung to him as something I could understand enough to deal with.  To a small extent, as painful as it was to admit, I needed him.

I put my head between my knees.  _Someone please shoot me._

I heard someone humming out of tune to themselves in the aisle one over from me.  _Go away,_ I said in my head _.  Visiting time is over.  I'm moping._

The hummer strode nearer, until finally he rounded the corner, his deep set eyes on the catalog card in his hand.  Incidentally he looked up, and his eyes widened with recognition.

As did mine.  With a leap to my feet, and new hope in my heart, I whispered, "Oh, John, am I glad to see you!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	20. John Deacon, Stress Ball Extraordinaire

To my pleasant surprise, John didn't recoil from me, and willingly met my embrace.  "If it isn't Miss Houdini!  Fancy running into you here."

"Fancy running into _you_!" I exclaimed.

"SHHHH!"  said the Library Nazi.

 In a softer voice I asked, "What are you doing in the library?  You're not playing hooky, I hope?"

"No, no.  I've just stepped out for a bit, I'm going back right after I run this little errand," he told me.  Glancing back down at the catalog card, he began scanning the shelves for the designated decimal.  

"What are you looking for?" I whispered.

"Aha!  This, this, and this," he announced, taking several heavy, heady books. "Oh, and there's one more up there, would you mind holding these a second-"

John laid the books carefully in my arms as he stretched his arm to the very top shelf, pulling down the thickest book yet.  I looked at the titles of what I held.  One called itself _The Art of Electronics_.  Another, _Advancements in Modern Technology: Its Ins and Outs_ , or something like that, I didn't set them down to memory.  But they were collections of diagrams for pieces of obsolete electrical hardware even for 1977.  

_Too bad they don't have one called Finding Cell Phones for Dummies,_ I thought humorlessly _._

"Do you read this stuff for fun?" I asked him.  

"Yeah," he muttered absently.

I wrinkled my nose.  "What for?"

"Hm?  Oh, no.  I read Asimov for fun, but this stuff?  No, no.  I'm just picking these up in case I need them."

"Got a project or something?"

John nodded.  "I've just recently been commissioned, you might say.  It's this funny little thing that-"  He cut himself off and looked at me a little strange.  

"What kind of thing?" I asked.

"Oh, it's nothing, just a, um- a broken, uh, amplifier.  See, I kind of have a knack for electronics, so I tend to be the one they go to for fixing things."

I nodded.  "Yes, you're extremely good with amps, you built one, right?"

John seemed taken aback.  "I did.  How did you know?"

I froze.  "Uh..." I was still tired, and walking around all day under a clear summer sun hadn't helped much.  My spontaneity was nonexistent, and therefore, I couldn't think up even the most basic fib.

But John didn't notice.  "I guess Freddie must have told you."

"Oh... yes.  He did."  Involuntarily my body went rigid.  

That, somehow, caught his eye.  He took the books from me, saying quietly, "And, I know this is none of my business, but is Freddie the reason you're holed up here?"  

"Now, why would you assume that?  I could just be reading for a few minutes before I run off again."

"You've got your shoes off."

"So?"

"So, you've been here a while.  A couple of hours at least."

"I don't see what that has to do with Freddie-"

"Because I got an earful as soon as he stormed into Wessex today."

I paused.  "Oh."

John stood there awkwardly a couple of seconds.  I don't know what my expression was, but it must have been something truly pitiful, because he said gently, "Did something happen?"

"No.  Nothing happened, and I don't want to bore you with it anyway."

He smiled- not the most beautiful smile, but a real one- and said, "Well, you look like you could use a little release.  Come on, let's check these stuffy old things out.  Are you peckish at all?"

_I haven't even had breakfast,_ I said to myself.  But I'd been enough of a problem for one member of Queen, and one was too many.  "No, I'm fine.  Thank you."

He nodded silently and started for the front.  I didn't want to stay in the library any longer, so reluctantly I put my shoes (OW!) back on.  I hobbled behind him to the counter, where he checked out these bricks and I stood in ever-mounting pain.  _John is so different from Freddie_ , I marveled.  _He just takes my word for it.  It's good enough.  Freddie pushes, like he knows he knows better.  John is sweet.  But there's no challenge.  Freddie is a challenge.  I love a challenge.  
_

As soon as I started thinking of him, I began getting riled up.  I was past the trauma, the upset.  And I was antsy from sitting around in a place unable to say a word without being reprimanded.  Now, I was in the anger stage.  _And Freddie's also really mad at me for no REASON!_

Teeth clenched, I walked with John out of the library.  He started humming again that same little song.  This time the tune rang a bell.  "Spread Your Wings," was it?  Indeed!  Now he was mouthing the first lines of the chorus.  But I was stewing too hard on my frustration to care.

John turned and looked at me, saw the dynamite in my eyes.  He didn't say a word, but he knew exactly what to do: he sat me down on a bench close by, put the books in his lap, and seated himself comfortably.  

"Five minutes," he said, like a talk show host.  "Go."

I went.  I ranted and raved, griped and groused.  Half the time, I didn't even realize what I was saying.  I'd never just unloaded on anyone like that before.  Usually I was the one whose ear was being talked off.  But I was on the couch today (or bench, if you want to be technical).  John sat there, said nothing the whole time, and let me.  His expression never changed.  

"He's like a big cat!  I swear!  A big black panther with claws.  He's perfectly angelic one minute, then the next he's going in for the kill!  How am I supposed to deal with that?  I'm allergic to cats, and people who act like them.  And anyway, it wasn't my fault and he blames me for the situation!  I'm sorry I embarrassed him, okay?  Now let's hear his apology.  But none comes!  What, is he going to melt if he says he was wrong?  And I'm stuck here, and I wish I wasn't, because I don't like bothering you guys, I know I'm a pain in the can and I'm not making _News of the World_ move any faster."

Stuff like that.  On and on until finally I ran out of steam, and I quieted down.  Slowly, I took a deep breath.  I felt renewed.  I was still anxious, but at least I'd purged myself of the negative energy, the deeper feelings even the Macarena could not quell.

John looked at his watch.  "Three and forty two seconds," he informed me in nasal accents.  "Not bad.  He only beat you by six."

"Nice," I murmured.  "I can die a happy girl."  I rubbed my weeping heels and winced.  "Geez.  I did not wear very practical shoes today.  I didn't know I was gonna fly the Freddie coop."

"Where will you go now?"

I sighed.  "I don't know, John."

"Where were you, before you were in Freddie's closet?"

A shrug.  "I was at school."

"Where was that?"

"Ten thousand miles across the ocean, that's where, with the Relic in my hands and this thing glowing.  That's the only way I can leave here.  You wouldn't understand.  But that Relic.  I need it so."

At the mention of the Relic, John's face seemed to pinch.  But in a comforting voice, he still said, "I don't know much of what you're talking about, to be sure, but if anything, never lose hope.  It will come back to you one way or another."

I nodded, deciding I'd taken up enough of the bassist's time.  "What makes you so certain?"

He only smiled again.  He lifted the books off his lap.  "I just know.  Now, I really must be going, but will you at least give me the honor of taking you home?"

_Aw, John!  I thought you were smart earlier!  If you can set a timer by Freddie, don't you know how the rest of this works?_

I said, "I've embarrassed him, not to mention I basically left.  I wouldn't be welcome."

"That's not the impression I got," John muttered.

"What?"

'Nothing.  But I do think you should give him another chance."

"I'd love to.  But he-"

"Look, Miss- I'm so sorry, what's your name again?"

I half answered him, and gave him the wrong name.  I was so out of it today.  "Sam..."

"Sam?"

"No, sorry!  Eve.  I'm Eve.  Eve Samuels.  I mean, Dubroc.  I mean..."

John laughed.  "I think I'd better get you home before you hurt yourself."  

He put his hand on my back and guided me toward a dark blue car parked along the sidewalk.  Unlike Freddie, who preferred being escorted everywhere, John apparently enjoyed driving his own car.  I didn't protest.  I couldn't come up with any better ideas, other than wandering around some more.  And in those shoes?  Never again.

In no time, we'd pulled up to Freddie's apartment.  Suddenly I remembered I didn't have a key, and he was at the studio even now.  But John didn't need to know that.

I reached for the door, but John stopped me once again.  "What I was going to say, Miss Sam Eve Du-Whatever-You-Said, is, don't worry about him."

"He's still mad at me."

John shook his head. "He sorts himself out in the end.  Always does."

I nodded.  "Thank you for being a sounding board for me today.  I needed that."

He smiled.  "Any time."  

"One last thing I ask of you.  Please don't tell him I'm back."

"I can do that." Then he drew himself up in his seat and tried to mimic Freddie's brash bombast.  "Now pull yourself together.  Don't ever think of yourself as trapped.  It's a big adventure."

I laughed out loud.  "You only say that because you're a free man.  I'm at his mercy!"

John opened his mouth, about to say something, when a light switched on behind his eyes.  "Hey," he said to himself.  "That's good.  That's very good." 

"What did I say?"

He shook his head, but I could see the creative wheels turning.  "Nothing, nothing.  I've got to be heading back toward Wessex, now, Eve.  Good luck to you!"

"And you!" I called back.  Waving, John sped off down the road.  And I was left by the front stoop.

Just for fun, I tried the door.  Locked, as expected.  I rolled my eyes in frustration.  I glanced up at the rod iron balcony, where Freddie's room was placed.  I bit my finger and inspected the wall.  

"I sure hope I don't make a scene, but I have no other choice," I told myself.  And started climbing.

For those of you rolling your eyes and saying "Yeah, right," I had had a lot of practice climbing up onto the metal roof of my house on warm, clear nights.  I'd been living in the country a couple years prior to this, and as anyone can tell you, there's nothing prettier than the night sky minus light pollution.  

But the sun was still blaring fairly fierce; I scooted up the wall and clambered over the railing, ducking right under the the roof's shade. Despite all John's nice words, I didn't know what to expect when Freddie finally came home, but I was indeed home.  I didn't mind.  Sometimes you have to run away from it all before you realize what you are leaving.  

I was bushed already, and hungry.  I threw off my wedges and stretched out across the balcony, the sun washing over me, looking like a house cat lying on the patio waiting for someone to let her in for the night.  From the ground, no one could see me.  The sun beamed directly against my eyelids; I draped the journal over my face.  This felt so good.  

"Be gentle with me, Freddie," I whispered.  "Us kitty cats only go around nine times, you know."  And fell asleep.

 

 

 


	21. Mona Lisas, Mad Hatters, and an Omelet

By the time I finally awoke, night had fallen hard and the sun was gone.  With a sigh I removed my journal from my eyes, to find the most beautiful spread of indigo sparsely flecked with bright, silvery white stars stretched above my head.  In the very middle shone the perfect white wafer that was the moon.  Evening had cooled the air, which made lounging outside much more pleasant.

I checked the balcony door handle, which of course was also locked.  Freddie hadn't come back yet; I peered into the windows and saw no lights in the hall.  I picked myself up off the balcony. 

Naturally, I started to fret, wondering how he would behave once finding me.  Freddie might indeed report me this time.  Or else, perhaps he'd think it indescribably comical that I should come crawling back to him, and therefore laugh me into oblivion. 

_Worrying about what might be or might not be won't help,_ I told myself.  _Worry eats holes in your stomach.  He might not be back for hours yet._

I remembered for once that I actually wore a watch and squinted at it.  Nine forty-nine.  The night was just beginning in Freddie-land.  I stood to stretch my legs.

And the sleek Silver Shadow pulled up to the flat. 

Crap!  I ducked back down, watched through the bars as the car halted by Freddie's door.  Rudy hopped out of the front and hustled around to the back to open the passenger door.  Out stepped the man himself.  From my angle I couldn't read his face, but he looked like he was in a hurry to get inside.  Was he being followed?  I mean, by someone besides me.  But no other autos rounded the corner.

The front door didn't shut.  Odd.  Inside, the hall light flicked on.  He was running up the stairs; faintly I heard the thump-thump-thump of his feet ascending to my level.  Grabbing my journal, I swung myself over the balcony and more or less fell to the ground, unhurt.  I didn't want him to know I'd been up there that long.  Too late I remembered my shoes, but I'd kicked them to the side, and so weren't immediately in view from the window.

All of a sudden I felt at least three pairs of eyes boring into the back of my neck.  I turned to see three men (including Rudy) in the car, two of them whooping and shouting slurred, unintelligible things.  My jaw dropped.  No!  I'd been spotted! 

"Oi, Freddie!" the one with a face like a plum pudding called.  "Get out here!  'S a intruder!"

"Do something, man!"  The other guy poked Rudy's headrest. 

Rudy didn't move.  He just watched me to see what my next move would be.  And, since the flat door was indeed ajar, and Pudding Face was yelling at me to explain myself, I hotfooted up the steps and dove into the flat. 

No doubt that Pudding Face and/or the other guy - a good-looking black fellow with a loud, cackling laugh - would give me away once Freddie came back down.  All I could do right now was hide.  I crept into the dining room and ducked beside the table. 

His footsteps came down much slower than they had gone up.  I peeked over the top of the long table, waited till he walked into view.  At last he reached the foot of the stairs, and I could get a better look at him.  In spite of myself I smiled.  It was good to see him again.

Clearly Freddie hadn't found what he was looking for; angst that had shown on his face after the Tony Parsons interview sharpened his features again.  But it wasn't angry angst, there was no horrid chill.  No protective mask.  Just a very real sadness.  His eyes were lowered, his hand resting quietly on the railing. 

"Damn," he whispered.  "Bloody f---ing hell.  How stupid could-"

Then Pudding Face and Cackles burst through the door and shattered this introspective moment. "Are you okay, Fred?" Cackles asked breathlessly.

"Guys, I told you I'd be right back," Freddie said.  "I know you missed me but sometimes I just need to-"

"Quiet, we're not alone," Pudding Face ordered, his Irish brogue showing through.  I almost fell over.  Who was this guy, thinking he could order Freddie around like that?

Freddie turned to Cackles.  "What's he shitting himself about, Peter?"

_Atta boy, Fred.  So Cackles is Peter?  Let's see, Peter, Peter... Oh, now I know!  It's that darn cat Straker!  That's why he looks familiar.  Who's Pudding Face though?_

"There's someone sneaked in here," Peter said. 

"Really?"  Freddie turned to Pudding Face for confirmation, his eyes wide- and, from where I saw, hopeful.

"Yeah, some UGLY little c---," Pudding Face said in a loud voice.  

I seethed, _I don't know who you are, you Irish prick, but I hate you._

Even Freddie looked horrified.  "The f--- was that?" 

"I can only tell the truth, Freddie dear."  He smiled a sick, reptilian smile.

Freddie scowled and turned back to Peter.  "Are you any more help?  What's she look like?"

Peter was impressed.  "Whoa.  How'd you know it was a she?"

"Fifty-fifty shot."

"Oh, well, she's got long brown hair, dressed stylishly.  And I think she was barefoot.  That's all I got."

"Really,"  he said softly.

"And she just dropped down out of nowhere," Peter went on.  "I think she was up on your balcony."

"Really."  Freddie's hands now were confidently planted on his hips.  He gazed through and past Pudding Face, his eyes glazing over. 

"Hadn't you better call the police?" Pudding Face suggested impatiently.  "She might be some renegade guerrilla journalist!  You know how hot those buggers are for a juicy tidbit.  They'll do anything!"

"She's no journalist," Freddie said to himself.

"Wait.  You know her?"

My host snapped back to reality, and crooned in that fancy tone we all know so well, the one he saved for his dandy friends, "My dear ladies, I shall deal with the girl myself.  You two go pick up David for me and I'll meet you at the club after I take care of her."

"Call the bobbies already!" Pudding Face demanded.  "Th' little p---y could be dangerous!"

Freddie whirled on him.  "F--- off, Paul!  I know what I'm doing!"

Paul!  Not _the_ Paul?  Not Paul Prenter?  Not yet another (and perhaps even the very worst) lowlife that paved the way for Freddie's demise?  Ooo, now I was feeling it.  In my mind I screamed, _Get out of here, you ugly bastard!_ But Paul stood there and stared Freddie down, which made Freddie roll his eyes.

"I'll call them after I find her," he explained.  "How's that?"

"I'll help you look for her," Paul stated.

"No, my love, you're coming with me to get sweet Mr. Minsy!" Peter trilled in a very annoying falsetto.  "We mustn't keep the poor dear waiting!"  He took Paul's arm and led him outside before he could protest. 

Freddie walked over to close the door, when Paul shouted something at him.  "What?  Huh?  Oh, yes, I promise, I'm a man of my word."

"So am I," Paul hollered back.  Freddie thought this was a laugh riot, threw back his head and guffawed.  Yet in my ears, the words rang as ominously prophetic. 

Click.  The door closed.  Freddie stood by the threshold a couple of minutes, looking up the staircase.  I took shallower breaths so he wouldn't hear me.  After a moment he rubbed his shoulder, wincing.  I was reminded of those unfortunate comments he'd made about last night. 

I thought for sure he would begin tearing the place apart trying to find me again.  Paul and Peter (and David Minsy?) didn't seem like the kind who'd willingly wait.  Instead, he strolled out of view into the living room.  _He's being strangely calm about this.  He knows I'm here.  Why doesn't he act on it?_   Then it occurred to me, he was playing head games.  By not searching for me, he's defying expectation, inciting my curiosity, and therefore luring me out.  Genius! 

A couple minutes later, sweet piano music filled the flat.  What could I do but take the bait. 

As if in glass slippers did I delicately creep out of the dining room and peep in at Freddie, who sat slightly hunched over his black grand piano, hands flying over the keys.  He had his back to me, so I could watch him a little less carefully.  He was playing his stream of consciousness: he began with a heavenly chromatic scale reaching both ends of the piano, then crashed into the first few bars of "We Are the Champions," before tiring of that and playing some operatic aria that sounded like Verdi.  It went on from there.

_Now's a good time; maybe I can slip up to my room without him noticing,_ I thought to myself.  _I'm starving, and not emotionally prepared for any further confrontation._ And so I heel-toed it toward the steps, slowly walking up. 

And, of course, when I was about halfway to the second floor, Oscar popped up from the couch and saw me.  He scrambled toward me and meowed.  Distracted by the orange menace (not really, I loved that little guy), I lost my balance, tripped and knocked backward into the railing.  _Thump._

Freddie didn't even pause playing as he said, very coolly, "So where have _you_ been?"

I rocked back onto my feet.  _Well.  That was anticlimactic.  But I'll play along._

I said, "Are you talking to me?"

"No, I'm talking to Tiffany.  Come here."

I had to check on my backpack, make sure he hadn't destroyed everything.  "Just a minute."

"No, now."

"Say please."

Freddie looked up, met my eyes.  "Now... _please_."

That was more like it.  I scooped Oscar up into my arms and came back down.  My allergies really had calmed down since the first day; his fur simply tickled my nose, where before a cat this close to my face would have started an endless sneeze attack.

I walked up to his side and stood quietly.  I listened as the music melted into a new song, one I'd never heard before.  It vaguely reminded me of "Jealousy" in the manner it progressed, but with a much more flowing, connected rhythm and not that one-one-two, generic brand drum beat that he excelled in during the 80s.  This instrumental piece was exquisite; I wondered why it never found its way onto an album.

Abruptly he stopped, spun himself around on the bench.  "So tell me, where have you been all day?"

I blinked.  "Um, I was... out."

"Where did you go?"

I half-smiled.  "Who wants to know?"

Freddie sighed through his nose, cementing the notion that now really wasn't a good time. 

"I just walked around," I said in all honesty.

"Mm," he nodded, and patted the space beside him on the bench.  "Have a seat."

I sat down, and he situated himself in front of the keys once more, but his eyes were on mine. 

"You don't seem very surprised to see me," I blurted.  _Smooth move, Julia.  Played right into his hands._

"Well, I'm not, you know.  You were bound to come back.  You're very predictable like that."

"Oh, was I?" Again, that dig at my pride.  But I had had enough spats for one day.  For the most part, I let it go.

"Well, yeah.  You left all your things."  He pointed upstairs.

"I did.  Are you saying I should go get them?"

"No.  That is, unless you really do think I'm dirt under your feet."

"When did I ever say that?"

'You didn't.  I did.  Remember?  I said you should leave if you think that little of me."

"I don't think little of you at all.  I think you're wonderful."  The second sentence left my lips without my permission, but I couldn't take it back without looking like a jerk.

Freddie's face remained motionless, yet I saw the smile shining in his eyes.  "And, anyway, it would have been a shame if you didn't come back.  You see, I, um, I think I'm getting used to you being around.  Cooking for me, things like that."

"Oh yeah?" I felt myself blush.

"Yeah.  You've spoiled me rotten."

"Oh, no.  That damage was done long before I ever stumbled into the picture," I smiled.  "I am sorry about Mary though.  Did you guys work it out?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, we're all right."

Very gently, I pressed, "What did you tell her?"

"What, about you?  Oh, I simply backed up everything you said.  We're lucky you at least tell the truth."

_Ha, yes, sometimes I surprise even myself,_ I remarked.

Freddie paused a moment, looked ready to say something, but he talked himself out of it and turned back to the piano.  He started playing, eyes focused on the ivories, but his mouth was twitching with unspoken words. 

Suddenly I recognized the song he was playing.  It was an older, rather melancholy tune of Elton John's, one of my very favorites.  "Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say..."

Freddie glanced at me.  I closed my mouth, embarrassed.  I didn't realize I'd started singing out in front of this rock god.

"It's all right.  Keep going," he purred.

My cheeks burned, but I did as I was told, though softly.  "I thought I knew/ but now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City..."

Now he was smiling like he meant it.  I don't think he expected me to hit the low C.  My voice became stronger.  "Until you've seen this trash can dream come true/ you stand at the edge, while people run you through..."

Suddenly two voices sang the next line together: "And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you-"  I turned, and he was grinning right at me.  We sang it again, this time pointing playfully at each other on "you."

We sang the whole five minutes of "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters," harmonizing on the chorus ("Okay, take the top line, I'll do the low notes," Freddie directed), and trading lines on the next verses.  It startled me, how nicely Freddie's and my voices blended, till I recalled with delight the seven years I'd spent training myself on his songs.  Thank God, I have at least something to show for so long obsessing over him. 

Something happened during this song.  I can't put my finger on exactly when, or what the two of us were doing, but our relationship changed.  Whatever it was, by the end of the song, I'd accepted his unspoken apology for that morning, and our mutual angry shots were forgiven and forgotten.  Before I knew it, Freddie had stopped being just my wisecracking host with loose (to say the least) morals, was no longer just my obsession in a younger day.  We clicked, and a lasting rapport was formed.

When it was over, Freddie and I looked at each other and laughed happily.  "Not bad," he said.  "Next time we'll get the mandolin in there."

"If you got a guitar, I can muddle through," I offered.

"You play guitar?"

"I know how to play it.  I just can't play very well."

"Join the club, dear.  I know three chords." 

I started to get up from the bench when Freddie drew me back down. 

"I'm glad you're back," he said.

I looked down shyly.  "You mean it?"

"Of course I do," Freddie replied, and then I noticed the gleam.  "After all, I haven't eaten anything all day and you still owe me an omelet."

Ah, yes.  Leave it to Freddie.  What would he say next?  "I guess that means you aren't going to report me tonight either, huh?  Like you promised your friends?"

"Oh, don't worry about those old ladies, they can wait," he dismissed.  "I want food, and you probably haven't eaten either, have you?" I shook my head.  "My darling, you are so helpless when left on your own."

"I know, I know, I'm a danger to myself."

"You said it, not me."

I laughed, overjoyed that we were back in each other's good graces.  I threw my arms around his neck.  "Oh, Freddie, I don't deserve you."

In return, Freddie held me around my waist.  I pulled back and hesitated in moving any further.  I noticed how near our faces were; all I could see were those black, almond-shaped gems.  A new glimmer danced in them.  It disturbed me somewhat.  He lightly chuckled; I suddenly realized his face was moving closer, his head bending to my lips.  The eyes closed.

And despite the dizziness setting in, I leaned back and squirmed out of his grasp. 

"I, um, think I'd better get that omelet started."  My eyes lowered, I ran quickly for the kitchen so he didn't see how my body was trembling and therefore get the wrong idea.

"And I," Freddie answered deadpan from the other room, "am going to have a nice, tall, mind-f---ing drink and question my existence.  Care to join me?"

"I'm good.  Thanks, though."

He sighed.  "Right."

***************************************************************************

**_Day 5 (cont.)  We're on good terms again.  I guess today wasn't the day to bear a grudge.  I made us omelets like he wanted- special omelets fit for Freddie: heavy on the ham, super cheesy, and more than just a sprinkle of red pepper.  Halfway through our dinner, Pudding Prenter- I mean, Paul Pudding- I mean, Plum Paulter (okay, okay, I'm all punchy again, and I didn't even have a vodka like Freddie offered)- Mr. Prenter called Freddie and demanded he get his arse down there wherever they were.  I could be wrong, but Freddie didn't seem too excited to leave.  But he did._ **   
**_I'm just happy we're not fighting anymore._ **

**_NFOs: Freddie is acquiescent to Paul Prenter even now.  It's nothing like it will be, but Prenter is arranging his chess pieces, the smart little two-faced warthog.  (But again, I don't like Paul Prenter, so I guess that's a sort of bias I'm displaying which I give you people full permission to ignore.)  From what I can see, Peter Straker's not a big deal.  He's just annoying as heck.  But if only there was a way to covertly tell Freddie what an evil squirt he's got in his circle. I wish, I wish so badly.  Freddie's such a delight, for all his warts.  I wish._ **

I paused, read what I'd just written, arched my eyebrow, then decided it wasn't all that opinionated (HA!) and continued with just a little bit more:

**_Also: What is this magic of his?  What is this charm?  How does he do it?  It seems the longer I'm with Freddie, the more questions I have.  How can he even go through each day being as he is?  And what is this feeling I got, when he was holding me after the Elton song?  I know kisses are a matter of course for him, but why did the concept make my heart leap?  I have to be careful.  I must be careful.  And I want to tell him so much to be careful.  The world needs those beautiful eyes.  And that voice.  And his laugh, and his heart, and his-_ **

I threw my pen across the room, suddenly aware of what I was saying.  Of course I didn't mean any of it. I was just tired.  That was it.  Don't forget, he's on and off.  Mean, then nice.  Mean, nice. It had been a long day.  Nothing more. 

I went to bed repeating these words over and over in my brain.

But a small, meek, unimposing voice somewhere deep inside myself told a different story.

 


	22. Getting in That Sinking Feeling

My eyes closed, and my subconscious sent me again to the mist.  Once more that shadow approached me, stood waiting for my move.  My hands were still bound together, but this time I moved closer to the shadow.  I wanted to know who I was dealing with.  

The shadow put its hand out to me.  I came ever closer, until the fog was clear enough that I could see its face.  And I wasn't altogether shocked to discover it was Freddie.  He kept holding out his hand, but I raised my tied wrists, and shook my head.  Without a word, he reached out his other hand, which held something.  He grinned condescendingly, and I gasped.  

It was the Relic.

On reflex I lunged for it, but he thrust his hand back behind him, leaving only his free hand outstretched.  The meaning was obvious: if you want out of here, come with me.

So, not as reluctantly as I might have yesterday, I put my hands out.  With his open hand, Freddie touched my wrists, and the cords fell away.  Then he seized my arm, and started shaking it violently.  I tried flapping my other hand at him, but he wouldn't stop.  Then I heard his voice, breathless and excited:

"Evie, wake up!  Hey!"

Slowly the swirling dreamscape evaporated and I was lying in bed, being jostled around.  But the voice was still there.  "Come on, darling!  It's important!"

I pried open my eyes to see another silhouette above me, but I knew who belonged to this one.  Freddie was sitting on my bed, shaking my shoulder.

"Wh-what's wrong?"  I stammered.

"Nothing, you silly, just get up!  We have work to do!"

"Hol' it, hol' it, what time...?"

"Oh, that doesn't matter, dear."

But I still reached for my Android, now fully charged and lying face-down on my nightstand.  I was too zonked to realize what might come of this, but I looked at the lit up screen.  "Freddie, it's three fourteen, are you mad?"

He was stunned.  "Hey it's that thing!  How'd it-?"

"Magic Mirror knows all," I mumbled.  I slid it under the covers.  "Go to bed, Freddie, I can smell the vodka."

"You're not getting up?" Freddie said.

"Not for another four hours.  Go back to your friends, they need you.  Bye bye."  I put my head under the pillow and pulled the sheets over it.

Which was a mistake.

Two seconds later, Freddie tore back the covers and threw away the pillow.  

I squealed, "You dog!"  (That I suppose was my stock response to anything he did that I wasn't ready for- so I said it a lot.)  

I sat up, scrambled to pull the covers back over me.  I was in my lacy, dark green nightgown Freddie picked out for me- one I had particularly protested because it was so sheer- and I figured he'd seen enough of me to last the rest of my life.  But again, I was outwitted.  As soon as I'd lifted from the bed, Freddie scooped me up round my waist and slung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  As if he did this sort of thing every day at three fricking o' clock in the morning, he calmly marched us down the stairs while I slapped his backside.  

"Now, now, dear, don't get ahead of yourself," he cooed.  "We'll do spankings later, hm?"

I didn't have it in me to be politely embarrassed; I laughed tiredly.  "Why do I even bother."

"Good question.  Heave, ho!"  He threw me down onto the sofa and put out his hand to help me to my feet.  Ah, sweet Freddie.  So good at putting me in weird positions, then playing the cavalier gent to get me out of them.  I was awake now.

"Should I put the kettle on?"

"Just wait."

"Where'd your, ahem, buddies go?"

"Oh, they're still out."

"Minsy, too?"

"Minsy?  Who's Minsy?"

"David Minsy."

He blinked, his expression verging on paranoia.  "It's Minns.  And where'd you-"

"I was right there, Freddie!  Heard everything."

"Oh.  Well, uh, yeah, he's still there, with the others.  But I don't want to talk about them, you're distracting me.  Come come come!  Sit down."

I sat down on the bench where he pointed.  Freddie followed right next to me.  I squinted at him, and noticed he looked a little worn out.  Obviously he'd shot straight from the bar and whatever festivities it advertised, to do this.  His usually pristine clothes were wrinkled and moist.  He was full of energy, almost too much, but his darting eyes were red-rimmed and beads of perspiration lined his shiny forehead.  Freddie was high on something, clearly- perhaps he'd had a few lines for the road- but I dared not ask for sure.

He laid his large hands across the keys, and started playing.  "You're a jazz fiend.  I'm going to sing this, and you are going to tell me if it needs something."

"Freddie, I'm really tired-"

"That's an order!" he cried.

"Aye-aye, captain," I said.

"Right," he muttered.  And proceeded to play me some sultry jazz.  

I smiled to myself.  I loved this song.  Indeed, it was missing the dark chocolate rhythm section from the actual track I knew, but I swayed to the music, closing my eyes to take it all in.  He was playing it faster than what I was used to, but I liked it better this way.  In the album version, I'd always pictured Freddie lying across the top of the piano, Marilyn Monroe-style, caterwauling while 1940's gangsters with cigars in their mouths struck up the band around him.  It wasn't a pretty sight.  Funny, yes, but Freddie can't precisely pull off wearing a slinky black dress.  

"So what do you think?" he accosted me suddenly.  

"It's nice.  Needs drums and the bass, though."

"Well, obviously."

"Does it just end abruptly like that?"

"So far, it just fades out.  Does it need something?"

"Like what?"

"Anything!  Instruments, tempo-"

"Uh,... no?"

"Brian was complaining there was no guitar part for him.  Starchy old maid."

"It doesn't need it, though."

"Exactly!  I told him that, but Bri and Roger don't like it, say it's too smooth, too jazz, and John's kind of middle of the road for it.  And that's not good."

Again, I remembered the lounge lizard version on _News of the World_.  "Have you thought of maybe slowing it down?"

He looked at me.  "Why?"  _Waspish much, Fred?_

"Maybe it's too fast."

Freddie shrugged.  "I don't think so."

_O-kaaay!  Moving on!  "_ Well, um, is it just that verse, then the chorus twice?"

"I haven't written the second verse yet.  I may not, I sort of like how short it is _._ " _  
_

"A second verse might help pad it out, give it somewhere to go."

Freddie snorted in irritation.  "Well, dear, get right to writing one for me, why don't you."

I looked into his red eyes and smiled.  "Let me see, now- play the verse part again, please."

He did.  

"Okay, now let's do it again.  Could you hum the melody for me, too?  To get an idea of the flow."

Freddie hummed.  What he didn't know was I'd loved this song for years, and had toyed with the lyrics as I often do with songs I like.  I sang after him, and after a few rough runthroughs, this is what we came up with (including of course, the first verse and chorus, not printed here): 

_"The music has faded-_

_And I'm feelin' so jaded._

_Nothin' to do but turn out the li-hight..._

_I'll be okay tomorrow,_

_But now, let me breathe my sorrow-_

_Don't wanna get too high tonight..._

_So come and get me;_

_Let me_

_Get in that lowdown feeling_

_Cause now my heart ain't got nowhere to go,_ [Freddie thought this line a bit hokey, but to sing it correctly sounded bookish, so he conceded]

_So- don't expect me_

_To behave perfectly,_

_put on that summer smile._

_I'm feelin' much more for that icy winter blast._

_Don't try and stop me,_

_and I don't need anyone to pull me through._

_I'm causing a mild sensation_

_With this new occupation-_

_I'm gonna have to choose_

_to keep it going, lose_

_my self-composure,_

_and let them hold over: My..._

_Melancholy Blues_."

Of course, Freddie and I didn't just unanimously agree on this line or that.  We actually got into it pretty hard at one point.  I wanted a line worded one way, but Freddie threw a fit and said it wouldn't work.  I responded by screaming louder, and adding, "You asked my opinion, so there it is!  What do you want from me?"  His energy was so contagious- even the negative energy.  Man, Freddie wasn't kidding when he said Queen was the "bitchiest" band ever.  However as the cocaine (or whatever fun stuff he'd enjoyed) gradually wore off, and the quick temper faded, he stopped seeing me as a music critic, and we wound up working together rather harmoniously.

It was six in the morning by the time we'd finished.  We both felt and looked like dog meat.  Still, Freddie wanted us to sing it through one more time, "but with style." The final chorus stayed the same of course; for fun, I harmonized with him on it. I must say, we sounded mighty fine. 

At the end, he grinned, and nodded.  "That's fun. I'm not a lyrics person.  This helped a lot. Thank you, darling."

"Absolutely.  Just something to think about," I replied.

"Not just think about.  This is the song now."

And then I realized what a serious lulu of a mistake I'd just made.  

Oh, no.  "My Melancholy Blues" didn't have a second verse, never would have a second verse, and that was that!  I'd heard the darn song enough to know such to be undisputed truth.  And yet, and yet, there were the freshly cooked lyrics sitting there on the piano, in Freddie's and my handwriting!  What had I done?  What would this do to Time and its course?  

But I was too tired to do actually anything about it now.  I had all day tomorrow to talk him out of it.

"Why did you come all the way back here for my opinion?" I asked instead.

"Because I value it, that's why.  I love your tastes- in music.  You still need help in the clothes area."

I couldn't help feeling flattered, despite how left-handed the compliment was.  "Are you serious?" I said.

"Very.  I'm also something next to exhausted, so if you'll excuse me, dear," he kissed my hand, "I'm going to take it off to bed."

"That's a great idea," I whispered.  "Me too."  I rose.  Maybe I could catch a couple more hours before the sun came up.

Freddie looked at me funny, in such a way that reminded me of what I was wearing.  "You're welcome to come along, if you like."

My stomach fluttered.  "Oh.  I appreciate that, Freddie, really I do, but I've got a perfectly nice bed, so-"

"I know," he said, getting up.  "But it's awfully small compared to mine."

"Is it?" I stalled.  He was coming toward me.  I backed away.  "That's very, um, interesting."

"I," he said, following me up the stairs, "don't like to sleep alone."

"Funny, it's just fine with me.  Maybe you should go out and find somebody-"

"I don't want to," he purred.  "I'm all settled in for the night- or morning, shall we say."

We were very near my bedroom and the look in his eyes scared me to death, only because of the way it was making me quiver.  I suppose whatever magic powder had kept him up this long hadn't yet entirely diffused.  

"You," I managed, "are too much."

"Am I?" Before I could answer, his arms slipped around me and his face bent ever so close to mine.  The world tilted drunkenly before me.

He studied the fear in my eyes.  "Eve, darling, what are you afraid of?"

"Freddie,  you're not yourself," I whispered, looking away.  And he wasn't, or else he wouldn't be acting this way.  " I- I don't want this."

His voice sank into the deep, rough parts of his throat.  Oh, God, what a feeling it gave me.  "Then why haven't I heard that word yet?  That word you're so, so quick with?"  

"What word?" I whispered, frantically reaching for the knob.  

Freddie drew my face up to his.  "No."  

I did feel his lips press against mine, but it wasn't for long enough to constitute a real kiss.  I grabbed the knob, broke away from him, and slammed and locked the door.

"I'm not your speed, remember?" I shouted through the wall.  

I don't know what Freddie did after that, but it did involve him slamming his own door five minutes later and swearing profusely to himself so loudly the neighbors probably heard it.  But that morning, until about nine, he did indeed sleep alone.  Me?  I couldn't even close my eyes.

 

 

 


	23. Birdman's Eye View: Stepping on Freddie's Toes

I glance at Brian and wonder if he sees what I see.  I want him to look back at me, give me some kind of sign, but he doesn't.  He's watching Freddie with that same mix of admiration and annoyance he always favors him with.  Brian doesn't have an easily readable face.  Neither do I.  It's a gift, really.  No one ever knows what we're thinking, unless we come right out and say it.  Difference is, I never say it.

Freddie is holding court here in our manager's house, campaigning again for his little jazz-type song.  "...So I made it a little longer and I think it flows better now."  He plays it for us.  Though I like jazz as much as anyone, I don't know where this fits on a rock album.  Granted, this version is much improved, but it's lacking somewhere.

Brian huffs.  "But it's lounge jazz, Fred."

"And...?"

"I mean, it's one thing for us to do the vaudeville stuff, the "Leroy Brown" thing, "Good Company", that's different.  This is... I don't know, it's just not the same."

Freddie sneers, "Oh, right, sorry.  Only jazz with electric guitars and a genuine George Formby ukulele banjo is worth the trouble.  I completely forgot."

"No, I'm just saying, it's still a little too bare.  There's no rock aspect.  It doesn't, um, it doesn't kick."

"So now we're putting ourselves in boxes, eh, Brian?"

"I don't like it, either," Roger chimes in.

"Freddie, we're not jazz artists.  We're rockers.  Variety's good, but it has to be good variety."

Freddie arches his eyebrow.  "My, my, that's very clever.  Did you think that up yourself?"

Brian is losing it.  "Look, Fred, I don't know what's gotten stuck so far up your ass lately that you're being such a twat, but do us all a favor and pull it the f--- out."

He may not know, but I do.  Too well I remember how I was restringing my bass toward the start of yesterday.  I'd done it a million times before, but this new string proved especially troublesome.  It kept slipping.  Finally I'd wound it around the knob, and I tightened it to the proper pitch.

"Come on, come on," I was muttering to myself, gently turning the key, the string pulling ever more taut.  But I pulled too taut too fast, and the string snapped.  Freddie was charging in at the very same time.

"Bollocks!" I had said aloud.  "So close!"

"The story of my life," he muttered.

"Huh?" I said.  And the floodgates opened and I resigned myself to my forever status as a sounding board- except now I'm that for two people and not just one.

And I thought Freddie was in a foul mood yesterday.  He was practically drifting away on clouds of happiness compared to now.  Anything any of us has said to him today has either been ignored or met with sheer hostility.  And Roger isn't helping.  He's grinning from ear to ear.  Because he knows exactly what's wrong with Freddie, as do we all.  He's simply the only one who's rubbing his nose in it.

Freddie looks Roger's way.  "What's got you so tickled pink?"

"Nothing, man," he says.  "Just thinking of all the things I can do with one hundred pounds."

Freddie's eyes narrow.  "Really!  I haven't seen any success on your end."

Roger shrugs.  "Just means I need to up my game.  What's your excuse?  You're living with her!"

Ouch.  Freddie's fuming.  I watch his hands clench into fists.  There's a lone, empty wine glass sitting on the table.  He moves his arm.  Now it's smashed in a million tiny pieces by his feet.  

"That just cost us the price of an album," John Reid protests.

"I think you can afford that," Freddie replies.

"Wait, wait, wait."  Brian blinks, as though he's just now waking up.  "Is this about that f---ing girl?"

"Girl?" Reid frowns at Freddie, almost like he's been betrayed or something.  "What girl?"

Freddie shrugs.  "Long story, my dear."

I resist the urge to shake my head.  Brian is so out of the loop, only because he's chosen to be.  Freddie and Roger trade glances.  For Brian, this is the last straw for a very tense day.

"You guys are beyond belief!" Brian exclaims, and throws down his papers.  "I'm not sitting here to listen to you two row about some chick.  See you tomorrow."  He makes good on this threat (though a weak one; it is after all nearly half-past eight at night) by marching out of the house.

Maybe it's time I do the same.  I haven't seen Veronica or Robert all day.  I start moving around, collecting dishes.  But I'm listening.

"I bet she likes them blond," Roger muses aloud, clearly just to gig Freddie.  "I bet she likes her boys golden."

Freddie rolls his eyes, suddenly composed.  "Perhaps- but she also likes them fabulously handsome.  So we're tied, one and one."

"Sticks and stones.  Deep down, she wants me.  I'll just have to help her realize that."

"Yeah, okay," Freddie snorts.  He gets up and pushes in his chair.

Then Roger turns tempter once again.  "I'll wager one thousand pounds I can get to her even before tomorrow night ends."

Freddie groans.  "Ugh, Roger, give it a rest, would you?"

"Why?  Scared that I will?"

"Who's scared?  You can have her and have her, for all I care.  I just happen to know she'd never have you."

"Wishful thinking."

"Tell you what," Freddie says.  "I'll bring her around tomorrow.  We'll see for ourselves."

"Won't she be in the way, just sitting there?" Reid asks.  I wonder why he doesn't mind any of the other people Freddie brings round every now and then.

"Leave that to me.  I'll find a good reason for her to come.  She'll need one.  Always does."  Freddie scoffs to himself.

"Great.  Should be fun.  But my offer still stands, Freddie.  One thousand pounds."  Roger yawns like a hyena, and makes for the exit.  "Thanks for dinner, Reid."

John Reid nods at him, then to me he says, "Don't worry about the plates, I've got that.  Go home."

I take his words and run with them.  I think Freddie might stay a little longer at Reid's, as per usual.  But I've not walked five feet from the front door when it opens again and out comes the very bloke, still none too cheery.  He scans the sidewalk for his car, and swears as it hits him, he forgot to have the driver stick around- perhaps because he was thinking too hard on _her_.

I know how he is about public transportation.  So I call to him, "Need a ride, Freddie?"

Freddie turns, mulls the idea, then nods.  "If you're offering.  Thanks."

So we head down the sidewalk a way toward my car.  Discreetly I study his sulking face.  After a moment, I venture, "You all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he says evasively.

Though I'm closer to Freddie than the others, it's not lost on me I'm risking that friendship. "Brian may have a point, you know."

"How?" he barks, temper rising.  

'Uh... the song.  It needs something.  It's good, it just-"

"That's not what you were going to say."

"What's wrong, Freddie?  Is it her?"

Freddie opens his mouth but hesitates, clears his throat.  "Let me show you what I have to deal with," he says.  "Do like me.  Right?"  He starts prancing along the sidewalk, saying, "So you're walking down the street, minding your own."

I watch on the corner as he glides past the borough houses, bouncing along on the balls of his feet.  

He looks back in exasperation.  "Well, don't just stand there!  Move, John!  Walk with me!  Like this!"

Walk like him, he says.  For that, I'd need a built-in pogo stick- and loads of self-esteem.  But I try.  I hold my arms out at my sides, my wrists limp, my hips awkwardly swinging.

Freddie looks back at me and frowns.  "What the f--- are you doing?"

"I'm doing what you asked me to!"

"I didn't-"

"You said walk like you, so I'm walking like you!"

Freddie stops, looks down at himself.  His mouth twitches, then he glances at me.  It's too dark to tell if he's blushing.  But I snort a little laugh anyway.

"Never mind, never mind," he says.  "I'm terribly out of sorts lately.  Tell you in a minute.  Where's your car?"

We clamber into my sensible sedan (the Dadmobile, Freddie just has to brand it, the old bugger) and speed toward his flat.

"What I was _trying_ to say, before you had to go and make it all ridiculous," Freddie continues finally, "is, picture yourself in my place.  Walking along, minding your own business, lovely day, things like that when suddenly, you round the corner and there's this girl standing there not three feet away.  Just a beautiful girl, smiling, teasing you with her eyes.  And of course you put out your hand to her- and what happens?"

I pull to a stop.  "I dunno.  She takes your hand?"

Freddie shakes his head.  "You reach out- and touch glass.  It's the shop window.  And she's not for sale at any price."

I sit quietly.  I dare not assume what he's trying to say, and let him spell it out.

He sighs.  "I'm quite the windbag with you of late, I know.  But I can't talk about Eve with anyone else.  And what with you having the Relic and all, you're more or less in on it."

I shake my head.  "It must be awful for you."

He nods.  "I feel like I've totally blown it with her.  Roger may actually have a better chance at this rate."

"I dunno.  I'm no good at these things."

Freddie rolls his eyes.  "Oh, John.  You're so afraid to step on my toes."

I squint.  "What?"

"Talk to me, man!  For once, don't worry about what I think and f---ing step on my toes."

I pause, shoot him a wary look.  "You won't be angry?"

"I make no promises."

I huff.  "Then I'm not saying a word."

"Fine, fine!  Say whatever.  I promise I'll take it like a man."

This isn't my area.  I don't like involving myself in other people's sex lives, or love lives, or what have you.  But Freddie is once more asking for my help- worse still, my advice.  I don't know when I'll have this privilege again.

"I don't know what's gone down between you and Eve," I say carefully, "but regardless, maybe you should back off trying to- um, force yourself upon her.  Maybe she just needs to breathe."

"My God, John.  You act like we're an item on the rocks.  We haven't even left the harbor."

"Maybe it's too early.  Some girls take longer." 

He rubs his eyes.  "It's been so long since I've had to.  Do this stuff, I mean.  Most times, they just, you know, run up at you, forcing their hotel keys into your hand while they're screaming their phone numbers."

"There you are.  Talk to her.  Get to know her, first, before you start trying to get into her knickers."  _Over one hundred pounds_ , I scoff to myself.  _God, Freddie, at least bet something a little higher next time._

"Then again, who's to say she's past it," Freddie murmurs to himself.  "She, doesn't seem a very, um..." He trails off, silently filling in the blanks.

By this point, we are pulling in front of Freddie's flat.  Somebody's certainly home.  The lights in the windows are all on, and I can hear faint guitar music floating in the humid breeze.  I don't answer him, because there's no way I can.  He has to work this out on his own.  It's not something one can just solder back together, like that silly device.

"How's the Relic coming along, by the way?" Freddie asks, opening the car door.

"Not too bad," I say.  "I think I may have it all pieced together by tomorrow."

"Excellent.  Thanks for the ride, John.  We'll see you tomorrow."

"We?"

"Eve is coming to the studio too."

And after all that maudlin jabberjaw about blowing it with her!  "Since when?"

"Really, John.  Have you no faith in me?"  He flashes me a dazzling smile- the first one I've seen today.

I have no idea now whether he's been toying with me the past few minutes or really taking in anything I said.  I honestly don't know what to do with him except take him as he is.  So I wave goodbye and let him skip up the steps.  

I don't live too far away from Freddie's flat, so I head straight for home and arrive in under ten minutes.  I make plans to catch up on the day with Veronica and then get right back to tinkering with Eve's Relic.

Robert's there to greet me in the arms of his mum.  When I walk into my flat, I kiss the top of his head and my wife's lips just a bit above.  He's ferociously gnawing some little piece of plastic he's found, which he keeps sucking on no matter how many times Veronica pushes his hands down from his curious mouth.

I'm more anxious than I realized to finish the Relic.  So very quickly my wife and I recap the day's goings-on and she leaves me to it.  I rush to my desk, inspect the pile of electronic parts, more coherent now since the day Freddie had brought them over.  

And I'm missing a piece.

My heart flutters.  I dive under my desk, run my hands along the floor.  I peer back behind it, under the furniture.  Under the loose, random papers I carelessly left there yesterday.  I can't find it.

And then, my heart sinks.  I dare not look.  It couldn't be.  But I still turn and look at my son.  My little son, who's still sucking on a tiny plastic square with a golden rectangle in its center, now resplendent in baby teeth marks.

I swallow.  _Oh, no_.

 

 


	24. Heart to Heart

The door bell rang. I licked my lips and ran over, fingers crossed. I'd been praying and praying for him to at last arrive. I couldn't take it anymore. To be absolutely certain, I closed one eye and peeked through the hole. My heart sang with joy. He was here! Flinging open the door, I found him standing there, an enormous smile on his face.

"At last!" I cried. "I've been waiting for this moment all day."

"Large pizza for Eve?" the delivery boy honked.

"Half pepperoni, and half black olives, green bell peppers, and mushrooms?" I said.

"That's it!" he announced. I slapped the money into his hand, said "Keep the change," and pulled my dinner into the flat. My mouth watered in anticipation. Keep your Starbucks, your Chipotle, and your McDonalds. My heart belongs to pizza.

I lifted the box lid, peered in at this perfect culinary creation. It wasn't exactly Papa John's, but this English variation certainly beat having no pizza at all. I dipped in and munched on a slice.

It had been an unusually quiet day. I didn't see Freddie before he left; when I had had enough of lying in bed, wide awake, I rose, got dressed and went for a walk outside. By the time I came back, he was gone. In the middle of the day, I took a nice long nap, which made up for what I lost the night before.

What with such a weird sleep schedule, however, my immune system was down. Mix that with living in a still very real allergy attack zone, and I caught myself a little cold. Most of this sixth day rang of sneezes and nose-blowing enough to get Tom restless and for Mrs. Cottage (for she came in that morning) to suggest several no-fail homeopathic remedies. At least Freddie didn't see most of that.

What I did in between time is really rather inconsequential, mostly I just puttered around the flat feeling droopy. I could go into detail, but unless you think the amount of food I gave the cats for breakfast matters, I won't.

In spite of how freaky things had become this morning, I got over it fairly quickly. After all, Freddie was high as a kite. What did I really expect? He wasn't himself. And there was no telling how I'd act if I was in his shoes. However, should he march into the flat that evening, without his pupils dilated, without looking like he'd just run a marathon, and pull the same stunt, I would not be so forgiving.

Still, I wondered when he would come back. I'd missed my official Freddie fix, that special morning kickoff. He was likely out with his friends again (using the word 'friend' very loosely, of course), but that was his business in which I had no right to meddle. _I just pray he's in a good humor when he returns. I don't feel well, so I hope he at least acts like a human being._

I made my plate of pizza and sat down in front of the television. As I ate, I zapped around for something worth watching on the five channels available (that's right, kids, no Netflix!). I snatched the last three minutes of a Benny Hill rerun, which lasted only about as long as my dinner. There was some kind of BBC soap opera on one of the other channels; the rest I found was either news or just indescribably dull. I switched the TV off. _Funny, how even forty years and two thousand channels later, there's never anything on._

Another clear summer night was falling upon London, this one even prettier than the last. I couldn't let it go to waste. I grabbed a scrap of paper and scrawled a quick note: _**If you need me, I'm on the balcony. Don't worry, I won't jump. I don't think I will anyway.**_

Putting the pizza box in the oven to keep warm, I hustled upstairs and barged into Freddie's room. Mercifully, it was empty. I opened the balcony doors, letting the fresh air invade Freddie's flat and soothe my susceptible sinuses.

In the corner by his personal closet sat a very lonely-looking acoustic guitar. Unlike only a few days before, I didn't resist the urge. "Don't mind if I do," I said happily, plucking the guitar from its stand and making straight for outside.

I balanced myself precariously upon the rail. Drawing the guitar across my lap, I tuned it and played softly, singing to myself as I stared out at the evening. Where I lived with my family, I had spent many a gentle, warm night on the roof of our house with my guitar staring up at the blanket of stars overhead. There in the heart of London, while the view was not quite as spectacular, I breathed this bit of familiarity. A few trees, and I was practically there.

As I continued, however, it hit me. Would I ever see my family again? Would I ever get back to the place I knew as my real home? I sniffed. _One of these days, something I might do or say could end up being a bridge too far for my volatile friend. He's sweet, and I love him dearly, but-_

Uh, ahem. Freudian slip there? Nah. Just a bad choice of mental words. Anyway. Start over.

_He's sweet, and I think very highly of him_ (that's better), _but he's a loose cannon, and I just don't think this arrangement of ours, where I'm living quite nicely for a measly non-sexual favor a day, will pan out too well. This morning was proof. Again, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt- but cocaine intensifies the inner feelings, I'm told. What does that say about how he feels?_

I shook my head. Freddie was such a mess. I had always thought as much. Even so, he was a cute mess, a cheeky bundle of trouble. _I just wish I could help him. I just wish he would let me help him._

Involuntarily, I began playing a song I hadn't thought about in years. It was a song that hadn't been written yet, and had nothing whatsoever to do with Queen; Kelly Clarkson sang it, of all things. But it was a very pretty song, and the longer I spent playing it, the more relevant it seemed. I didn't sing it; the guitar music was enchanting enough tonight, I didn't need to ruin it by adding my roughening voice.

I didn't see the black car pull up to the flat, nor did I hear the door open and close. I was off in my own little quiet world, full of peace and pizza, music in the air and stars in the sky.

Two tentative knocks on the wall. I turned my head. Freddie was leaning against the doorway, watching me. He waved -rather timidly, I thought.

I smiled. "What's shakin'?"

He looked me over, and returned the friendly grin. "Hey."

"You've probably already had dinner, but if not, there's pizza in the oven," I said.

"I did. Wait, you made pizza?"

"Me, make pizza? Today? I didn't even make my bed. It's delivery, but it's still darn good. You may not like mushrooms though, so..."

"Blech," Freddie gagged. "Mushrooms? I knew there was something wrong with you."

I laughed. "One of many things."

"You sound a little hoarse, dear."

"I think I'm just coming down with a little bitty cold. Nothing lethal."

"That's good." Freddie corrected himself, "I mean about not being lethal. Not about having a cold. Colds are dreadful."

I shrugged. "Could be worse." _Could_ _be_ _AIDS_ , I added silently. A funny little pang shot through my heart. Why did I have to think that? I had an intense desire to reach out and take Freddie's hand and tell him everything, but I didn't. Now wasn't the time. I wondered if there ever would be such a time. It's hard enough to keep someone's demise a secret- but who in this world is brave enough to break the news themselves?

Freddie looked around. "So, um, is this a private concert or can anyone mosey in and watch?"

"Admission's free," I said. "Have a seat."

So he sat down cross-legged and leaned against the door, kept watching me. I stared out into nothing again, strumming away.

"You do this a lot?" he asked after a while.

"What?"

"Put yourself in a very dangerous position and play guitar."

"Sure. I used to do it all the time at home," I said. "Since this is the closest thing I have to a roof, I'll take it."

He cocked his head. "You miss home, don't you, darling?"

I nodded. "It's only natural I should."

"Where is your home?"

I pointed vaguely out off in the distance. "Somewhere out there."

"You don't want to tell me?"

"It's hard to explain. Because once I tell you, the next question would be how I wound up here. And that, you would never believe."

"What is it you miss?"

"Oh, everything," I smiled sadly. "The trees, my family, my animals, the too-early Christmas music-"

"In July?"

_Whoops. Quick, think of an evasion!_ "It's always Christmas where I come from," I replied dreamily _.  
_

"You're kidding."

"Maybe..." I said.

After a moment Freddie reached up and tapped my elbow. I looked down, met the dark eyes straight on as he crooked his finger back and forth. He wanted me to sit right next to him.

"But I like it up here," I said.

"You're too far away" was his authoritative response. "Still, the view's better where I am."

"No, it isn't," I argued.

"Depends on what you're looking at," he smirked.

I sighed. "And it was such a beautiful night, too..."

Freddie threw his hands up defensively. "All right, all right, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that just came out, I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? That wasn't nearly as bad as some of the other stuff you've said." I joked.

Freddie's face darkened, and he tucked himself up into a fetal position.

"Aw, geez," I sighed. _What a child he can be._

Carefully I set the guitar down and moved over next to him. His mouth was taut, his gaze fixed downward. I didn't want to egg him further into a mood, but I couldn't decide how to handle him. I was studying rational methods for rational people in school. Freddie wasn't rational- and he didn't have a specific mental disorder listed nicely in our ever-thickening psychology bible, the DSM. He was just Freddie, just Mr. Spontaneous. And it dawned on me how completely beyond my weak power he really was.

So, I forced myself to improvise. "Well, I'm sitting here now. What shall I do next?"

"You can stop reminding me of what a f---ing asshole I've been, is what."

"I never said you were an-"

"But I was. Listen, I've, um, I've been less than a gentleman to you the past couple of days, and- and I'm sorry."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask "Who are you, and what have you done with Freddie?" but for once I kept my mouth shut. He looked into my eyes as he went on, "And I know you're a very good sport, putting up with my antics. Whatever I do that may seem, um, otherwise, don't think for a second I'm not aware. I can be pretty tough sometimes. I know that."

I understood about half of his rambling- he tended to do that when he was lost for words. But he meant it, whatever he'd just said. I nodded. "I accept your apology."

Hie brows shot up. "You do?"

"Am I that much a cold fish, Freddie? Of course I do. I know a sincere apology when I hear it."

He took a deep breath. "Well, I said it, so there it is. Won't you please go back to playing, I feel so terribly on edge it's not even funny."

I put the guitar in his hands. "You play."

"Absolutely not. You're better than I am."

"I look at it in terms of overall ability. You're a genius on the keys and yours is a golden voice. Maybe I know more guitar chords than you. That's no competition-"

"Do as I say, wench!" he thundered playfully.

_Well, at least we're past the funk_ , I remarked to myself. "Fine," I muttered, and went back to plucking. "Requests?"

"Jimi Hendrix."

"Oh, God-"

"I'm kidding! I don't care, just no punk rock stuff."

"That's fair," I nodded, and jumped into a song by the Clash. "WHITE RIOT, I WANT TO RI-"

"GAH!" Freddie roared, lunging at me and the guitar. "MY EARS, THEY BLEED!"

I fell back with a half-laugh, half-shriek. _I should have known better than that!_ He was trying to wrench the instrument from my hands but I clung to it, rolling over but keeping it over my head so nothing broke.

"Okay, here, here, take it!" I gasped, pushed the guitar into his hands but he didn't stop. Freddie kept grappling with me, so naturally I had to defend myself. The two of us wrestled like puppies up there on the balcony, and where guitar music had wafted now flowed inane laughter.

I was lying on my back and he was kneeling beside me. When he paused for a brief second, finally I grabbed the guitar again and held it across me, as if to say "Base!"

Both of us were breathing heavily with excitement, staring at each other, grinning like Cheshire cats. A little too late it dawned on me, how vulnerable I'd just made myself. But I didn't move. _How is it I keep getting into this kind of predicament?_

I expected him to make some sort of advancement, but he just sat there, eyes never leaving mine. My smile became forced; he kept staring, the way Oscar liked to do, except Oscar's eyes didn't glare like Freddie's. I sniffed and held the guitar closer. I noticed some kind of back and forth happening in his eyes. Freddie was thinking, remembering something.

He blinked. "The phone's ringing."

Then he stood up and, after helping me to my feet, went back inside.

And I burned with disappointment. Because that's what it was. I could lie and say I was coming down off another Freddie rush, but I was flat out disappointed. _Why didn't he try to-_

I brought the guitar in, and started thinking wholesome thoughts before I let myself finish. I didn't like where I might have been going. And had he tried, I wouldn't have let him, so it really didn't make much difference anyway.

"Oh, hello, darling!" Freddie said into the phone. "What's going on?"

I put the guitar into the corner, almost sat on his bed to listen but remembered my manners (what was left of them), and stayed standing.

"Hey, slow down, John, I can't unders-... Better," Freddie said. "Now what's happened to..."

Suddenly his face drained of color. "What did you say?" John's garbled voice repeated into Freddie's ear. "HE WHAT?"

After one more repetition, Freddie shouted, "HE F---ING SWALLOWED IT?!"

"Swallowed what?" I asked.

Freddie held up his finger, so I waited my turn. "Oh, my God, John, no... I mean, could it work without it?" Pause as John answered. "F---. Oh, f---."

John added one more thing which caused Freddie to grimace. "Spare me the details, darling. That's repulsive- but if it will still work, go for it. Whatever it takes. Thanks for telling me. Bye."

Freddie hung up and shook his head. "Unbelievable."

I was endlessly curious. "What happened?"

"Nothing, nothing, just... ugh." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway. You said there's still pizza?"

"Oh, so you're hungry now, eh?" I grinned.

"No, just suicidal," he replied with a wink. "Is it all mushrooms?"

"The other half is pepperoni."

"I can stomach that. Oh, by the way, dear, there's a bit of a problem with our song, it seems."

Despite how I'd meddled with time's course (sorry, Three Commandments!), I couldn't help feeling a little burst of pride when he said "our song." "What's wrong with it?"

"The boys still think it's missing something."

"Oh, that's a shame," I said as we walked back down the stairs. Somehow his arm found its way round my shoulders and rested there. I didn't react, nor did I mind. "Wish I knew what it needed."

"Isn't it lucky that I do?"

"Great! So what's it need?"

"You."

"I beg your pardon?"

"So just to let you know, I like to head up to the studio and get there round nine-thirty or ten, so if you could please plan to wake up accordingly, that would be smashing."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you mean, me?"

"It needs another voice."

"Overdub it, then! That's what you like to do."

"Since when did you know anything about our music?"

"I do my homework, Freddie. I live with a musician. It's only fair I should learn about the kind."

"You goose. This album, we don't want to do that, there was so much of it the last two. Don't you know what the press will say if we make triplets out of our twin albums? Some is good, but not like before. And anyway," he opened the oven and pulled out the pizza, "a good bit of that song was written with your voice in mind."

"But I have a cold!" As if to make my point, I sneezed.

"No excuses, please. I've been sick as a dog and I still drag myself in for a take or two. It's my job!"

"It's not mine."

"But it's settled."

"I'll just sound awful, by tomorrow morning I'll have a bad case of laryngitis, I'm already starting to sound like Brenda Vaccaro tonight. I can't! Please understand."

Yeah. How well do you think that worked?

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Camera Careless

Looking back now, I wish I hadn't taken Day 6 so much for granted. It was a dull day, up until when Freddie came back and recharged the atmosphere. But about seventy-five percent of it was peaceful, quiet, and slow. Aside of my developing cold, I had a fairly easy time. I should have made the most of it, cherished it for its rare delicacy.

Because it also marked a turning point, in that after Day 6, I no longer enjoyed such smooth, tranquil days. Reality came in for a crash landing from Day 7 onward. So far, there had been no life-changing episodes; I had stayed for the most part in the background, being someone Freddie came home to after a wild time in the outside world, like another of his cats, happy to see him and have him absently scratch behind my ears. Even after Freddie returned last night to make sure we were still on good terms (for that's the only reason I can fathom he came back so early), he slipped back out for whatever naughty joy he loved reveling in.

But this disconnect between me and his whole world could not go on forever. I had been edging around the hippopotamus pen for nearly a week, nimbly avoiding any possible major effects of this experience.

And then Freddie sneaked up from behind and pushed me in.

But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here. One thing at a time.

The next morning, my seventh day in Freddie-land, I woke up with exactly what I feared I would: laryngitis. To give you some idea of what that did to my voice, I encourage you to look up any given clip of Brenda Vaccaro in the 60's or 70's. My voice, though low enough by itself, dropped almost half an octave and rasped at odd places. I couldn't sing if my life depended on it.

Still, I smiled. The boys would never allow me like this. Freddie had no choice but to let it go now.

I took my smart phone into the bathroom with me for a little music while I cleaned myself up. All this talk about jazz had me in a Vince Guaraldi sort of mood; I listened to some good old "Linus and Lucy" while I scrubbed myself down. Yes, it was careless, but I figured at this point Freddie already knew the "Magic Mirror" existed, and he was asleep anyway, so he wouldn't mind. My, the ground I'd covered in only a week.

As I did, I wondered if I should tell Freddie of my recurring dream. In the latest version, not much had changed from the previous; the cords fell from my hands at Freddie's touch, and he started pulling me forward, further into the dark mauve fog. And that was all. But it was becoming more and more unsettling. Something huge and terrible just lay lurking beyond, and my dream-self was a breath away from coming face-to-face with it. It frightened me, and I wanted to tell someone. I wanted to tell Freddie.

_Hey, wait a minute. I'm the psychologist here. He's supposed to tell me HIS dreams, not vice versa. What does he care about my feelings? Let's keep in touch with reality, shall we?_

I had sense enough to take clothes in with me this time. I dressed and ran a comb through my hair. Just before I stepped out, however, I checked myself. It was morning. And about every other morning I'd been here, Freddie had pulled some kind of unexpected stunt. Tickling my feet, dragging me physically out of bed, making stupid comments about the "best time last night." Chances were, I was due for another surprise.

"Nope," I croaked aloud. "Not this time, old boy. I'm ready, yes I'm ready, for you."

So I slowly opened up and peeked both ways before crossing the hall. Freddie was stirring in his room; I heard him moan gently through his cracked door. I was safe for now. I tiptoed out.

"Morning, dear," he called in a creamy, drowsy voice that I immediately loved.

"Hi," I tried to call back.

"You ready for another fabulous day?"

"Absolutely," I replied, and foolishly stayed standing there listening.

"Mm. Good," he answered. He rustled around in bed, and stretched. "Mmmm-mm. Oh, by the way, do me a favor please and turn that camera off?"

'What camera?"

"Didn't you see it, darling?"

"See what?"

"The camera I had rigged up in the loo."

My spine prickled. "What?"

"Saw everything," he said. With a satisfied sigh, he added, "Very nice."

"WHAT?" I ran back into the bathroom, tripping over my own feet I turned heel so fast. Frantically I knocked around, looking for something, anything that remotely resembled a lens. I checked the shampoo bottle, the shower head, behind the toilet. And then I saw a flash and a click. I whirled.

Freddie was standing there without a shirt, his hair wild, pants unbuttoned. He was a mess. And he had an Instamatic Polaroid camera in his hands.

"Looking for this?" he said quietly.

And then, his uncontrollable laughter.

My face flushed crimson. I covered my eyes. He got me again.

"You actually bought that! OH!" He gasped. "Oh, it hurts! Ah-hahahaha!"

I started laughing too. "Why you- you-"

"Dog?" he suggested.

"Oh, you- YOU- YOU LITTLE SHIT!" I shouted, and doubled over.

Hearing me swear set him off all over again. "Darling, please! Remember the children!"

I shook my head, completely mortified but laughing anyway. "I hate you, I hate you so much right now I can't even tell you," I rasped between giggles.

"Yeah, yeah, just say cheese," he said, snapping another photo, which the camera at once spit out.

"All right, that does it," I announced, and turned on my own phone's camera. "Wait till your folks back home see you like THIS!" Before he could react I had his unkempt image saved to the memory card.

Now Freddie was caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

"That's right, two can play this game!"

"The Magic Mirror! Did you just snap me?"

"You better believe it!" I laughed evilly. I tapped my finger. "Just did it again. Make that weird face you were making before, that was priceless."

"All right, that's enough, that's enough, we'll carry on this battle a little later," he waved his hand. He picked up his second picture, which was just now coming into focus. He grinned. "You're red as a cherry, my dear."

"Wild or maraschino?"

"Details," he scoffed. "Come here and see."

I did, and cringed. In that little Polaroid square, I looked ready to explode. My face, bland without lipstick or mascara, was indeed three shades too pink. "God, what a fright I look."

Freddie put an arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. When I looked up at him to ask what that was for, he shrugged playfully. "I can't help it, darling, you're driving me crazy, and that new sexy voice of yours doesn't help an ounce."

"Sexy? I sound like a truck driver."

"A female truck driver in fishnets and tight little shorts, to be exact. Bra optional."

_Thanks, Freddie, for that virtuous visual._ "Uh-huh. Speaking of my voice, I think I'm not going to be able to-"

"Oh, no, not again. I'm in no mood for negativity! Think positive, darling. As your daily favor to me, let's keep the no's down to a minimum. Just try it on for size today, hm?"

"But I'm just trying to tell you that I can't-"

Freddie laid his finger against my lips. "Ah, ah, ah. Positive.  You're nervous, maybe, but don't be, they'll love it once you give it your, um, your special touch!"

I gave up trying to talk about it. Freddie was not only amorous, but stubbornly pushy, in the mornings. Something else for NFO list.

He looked back at the photo, then at me. "Ah. Such a pretty young thing you are."

I rolled my eyes and blew a raspberry.

He snickered. "And so gracious, too. Now let's have a look at this little doodad." He snatched at the Android but I moved my hand before he could grab it.

"Aw, Eve, come on, let me see it," he wheedled. "I heard the music this morning and it's so intriguing. So it takes pictures too? It could really be magic then! What else can it do? Oh, I'm just burning with questions about it."

I pressed the power button and coughed. "I don't think you're ready for this yet."

Freddie's eyes turned cold. "So I can't see your picture of me even though I showed you mine of you?"

I held out my hands in supplication. "Now, Freddie-"

The next thing I knew, both my hands were empty and Freddie had danced halfway down the stairs, well beyond my reach. "It's all right, dear, I didn't think you meant that. Now, how do I make it come alive?"

"You figure it out, smart guy," I rasped. "Here's a hint: the button's on the bottom."

"Oh? Okay, let's see here, um... Ah! There it is. That big one there?" Freddie pushed the button. The lock screen lit up his face, and his jaw dropped in awe.

"Penguins," he said. "You like penguins, I gather?"

"I do," I winked. "I love anything in a tuxedo."

"I'll keep that in mind," he purred. "So, um... now what do I do?"

"Enter the password."

"But I don't know the password." Freddie looked at me expectantly. When I didn't give him an inch, he said, "So what is it?"

"Now why would I tell you?"

"Because you're an angel and you don't keep secrets from me...?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Which part?"

"Both!" I grinned. "Like I said, I don't think you're quite ready for that yet. Mind handing it back, please?"

Freddie huffed, but conceded. "Might as well, I suppose, before the same thing happens as last t-"

"Same thing?" I frowned. "What?"

"Nothing, I was, um, thinking of something else." As if the thing was made of blown glass, Freddie laid my smart phone gingerly back onto my hand. "Just don't go flaunting that picture of me yet, all right? I at least want to see first what everyone else will later."

"Deal- though I dare say you're quite a picture all your own right now," I remarked.

Freddie shot me a sidelong smirk. "This one's just for you to see."

_Liar_ , I said to myself. Aloud I said, "What a gift!"

"Of course," he took a suggestive step closer, "there's plenty more you haven't seen-"

"And I'd love to keep it that way for now," I said quickly. "It's ten till nine right now, so maybe you should-"

"Yes, of course, I'll do that," Freddie said, but a naughty smile curved about the corners of his mouth as he turned his back.

"What's that look for?"

"' _For now_ ,' eh?" he replied. "Encouraging."

"Oh, shut up." I shook my head weakly. "God. Do you do this to everyone you're with?"

"No. Don't you feel lucky?"

"Then why me?"

"Really, darling? Must I explain it to you?"

"If you don't mind."

"Simple. You need it."

"What?!"

"I knew from the moment I met you, you need it. You still do, and a lot of it at that. But we're definitely making progress. Now darling, I don't want to waste any more time, so I'll be right back-"

He closed his door behind him. _Need it? I need nothing! I'm perfectly fine! He's the one what needs help! So there!_

I almost marched into my room when I remembered Freddie had the hair dryer. Like a penitent child, I forced myself back to his door and knocked.

"Freddie, may I please borrow the hair dryer," I mumbled.

He chirped back, "Sorry, darling, that was far too polite, try again."

_Again! Since when did I need this?_ I sighed loudly, but before I could repeat myself, the door clicked open and his arm appeared in the crack, hand clenching the dryer.

"Thank you, Your Highness," I said dryly, taking the tool and setting it on the floor. As if to further prove my point, I took hold of his hand and kissed it like it was the hand of royalty. I tried letting go, but he wouldn't. Freddie held on tight.Maybe I'd given him the wrong idea again. When I felt him slowly trying to pull me in, my worries were confirmed.

I still held my Android. Quietly, I searched my sound files for the infamous angry warning beep, then put it as close to where I figured his ear was. Volume went up full blast.

In a robotic, deep voice (which was not hard to do at present) I stated, "Five Seconds to Self Destruct." And played the sound.

It startled him all right, enough for me to slip out of his grasp. But he wasn't angry; if anything, Freddie only cried, "That's what I get for being nice to you?"

I smiled. "What can I say? You needed _that_."

"Good Lord," he sighed. "We'll be the death of each other, I swear."

I dashed back to my room and dried my hair, and applied some much needed makeup. But the entire time I spent waiting on Freddie, my face remained a fine shade of cherry, and the stupidest, happiest smile was on my face. _He makes me so glad to - I don't know. Glad to be alive, I suppose. That's just his natural affect, though. Just his charisma. It's a gift; no one's certainly ever made me feel like that before._

It was a crazy kind of morning already. But the weird and the wonderful had only just begun. Only time would tell if I could survive the rest of the day and come out in one piece.

 


	26. Off to Wessex

Rudy arrived to pick us up at nine-thirty sharp. When I opened the door, he greeted me with a quick nod of the head and walked right in. 

Rushing up to Freddie's room, Rudy knocked and asked if he was ready. As might be expected, Freddie wasn't quite prepared, seeing as he couldn't make up his mind what to wear that day. At least I wasn't the cause for delay; I had my backpack with me, holding a little money, my Android, and my notebook. If anything, I was overprepared. So I poured the driver a cup of tea, and we sat in silence and stared awkwardly at each other while we waited. Oscar hopped into my lap as I sat down. For once I was grateful; now I had something to do with my hands.

To my complete surprise, it was Rudy who spoke first. "May I ask a personal question?"

I shrugged, stroking Oscar's bright back. "Shoot."

"What are you to Freddie?"

"That's something you'd have to ask him."

"I mean, are you his friend, his relative- what?"

"I'm his long-lost fifth cousin, three times removed."

Rudy nodded, humoring me. "Really?"

"Why not?" I held up my smart phone. "Smile for me, Rudy."

He frowned, confused.

"Close enough." _Click_. And a stoic, frowning Rudy was saved to my gallery. This morning's escapade turned me into something of a shutterbug from then on. But I was very careful not to film anything. Dr. K had made such a big deal of shooting no videos in the log, I decided to just be safe and follow protocol. Why that mattered so much was beyond my tiny mind, but rules are rules.

Rudy looked at his watch. "I hope he hurries. Or else we'll be late picking up that other bloke."

"What other bloke?"

Before he could answer, Freddie skipped lightly down the stairs, tugging on the eternal leather jacket over his t-shirt. "Ah, Rudy, so good of you to wait up. I think we're set to go. Now, Eve, really! You don't even have your shoes on."

"That's easy to fix," I replied, and slid my feet into the waiting pair of sandals.

Rudy's eyebrows almost rose. "Your cousin coming along?"

"Yes, she and I are- wait. Cousin?" he said, smiling. "Did she say we're cousins?"

"Rudy, I was kidding," I laughed. Rising from the comfy chair, I flip-flopped toward Freddie. "We don't look the least bit alike."

"No, but you could be related, the way you two carry on," Rudy said. "You're quite similar in many ways."

"Us?" we said in unison.

"Well, sort of. In good ways, of course."

Freddie cuffed my chin gently. "Hear that, darling? We've got lots in common."

I snorted. "Name one thing."

His eyes darted toward the kitchen, then came back. "We like tea."

"True, but I prefer coffee."

"Why don't you tell me these things?"

"You never ask."

Rudy folded his arms. We were apparently proving his point.

Freddie shook his head. "Rudy, let me put it this way." He sidled up close to me. "If we were cousins, no matter how far removed, I wouldn't have any legal desire to, say, put my arms about her waist," -suddenly two large hands reached around from behind and clasped against my stomach- "press my cheek to hers," -Freddie leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against the side of my face- "and whisper into her ear-"

He paused, tilted his head so that his lips gently grazed my ear when he talked, and finished in that soft, arousing growl from yesterday, "And whisper into her ear how wildly I want to take off all her clothes and ravish her where she stands."

My eyes widened, my body wooden with shock. I looked back at him, forced myself not to react in any shape or form. It required much more effort than I thought it would, but I still managed to freeze. My knees felt like jelly. _It was bound to happen sometime. Right? This kind of talk? He doesn't mean it. Right?  
_

And just like that, he let go of me. To Rudy he said in his normal voice, "See, if we were in any way related, that would have been peculiar on a level even I couldn't overlook." He winked.

I raised my hand, struggling to keep my eyes from spinning. "Um, actually, I found that pretty darn strange-"

"Sh," Freddie hushed me. "Come along, the poor dear's been waiting long enough."

I took a moment to start thinking clearly again. Getting into the Rolls, I gradually drifted out of my haze and wondered who of Freddie's friends we would be collecting. _Probably either Minsy or Pudding Face. I'll ask him which._

So as we started rolling down the road, I said, "Who are we picking up, Freddie?" 

"Friend of mine," he said. "His name's Paul."

_Rats! Prenter strikes again!_ "So no Minsy today? David's not coming?" I asked.

"His name is Minns."

"I know, but that's my nickname for him. It's just how I keep the names straight. It's better than Mr. Clogs, right?"

Freddie rolled his eyes, smiling. "David's gone on a long holiday with his mates. He'll be back in about a week or so."

"You miss him?"

"I suppose," Freddie said indifferently. Then, suddenly suspicious, he added, "What's David got to do with anything?"

"Just wondered," I said. "Naturally curious, I guess."

"Why about him?" I couldn't help but notice a note of defensiveness. What for? What was his problem?

So I gave him a stupid, fluffy answer and hoped he would swallow it. "I love his name. It's so cute." 

I glanced out the window and mouthed my real reason: _And according to numerous sources, he was also your lover right around now, and I wondered if you guys were still quasi together at the moment. That's all.  
_

It seemed Freddie wasn't in the mood for awkward silences today; quite suddenly he started doing vocal exercises. His tongue fired off a rapid succession of "da-das" against the swerving, looping roller coaster that was his voice. After a little while he did a couple slide whistle impressions, and then looked at me as if I ought to follow suit.

"Come on, Evie! We're in this together," he cajoled. 

I sighed, and tried to copy him. But this morning I just didn't have the chops. My cold stole the top octave and a half from my range, and all I could do was make some kind of hissing sound in my throat whenever I attempted going past an A4. Even in the lower register, my voice gave out and I at one point accidentally honked like a Canadian goose.

Freddie exclaimed, "Where'd that come from?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you! My voice is kaput. I'm getting over a cold."

"Are you sure you didn't catch it on purpose?"

I coughed. "You're so sweet."

But he still wasn't convinced. "Sing a few lines."

I obeyed, and instead of my regular, clear alto, I heard Carol Channing. Well, wasn't this just too dandy. I had Brenda's speaking voice, and Carol's voice for- whatever that was she did, because I'm not sure it passed for singing.

"Hm," Freddie said. His brows knit together.

"Guess I'm just going to have to be a spectator," I replied. "I won't take up much room. Fact, once we get there, I could call a cab-"

"No, darling, you're stuck with me today. Otherwise you'll just hang around the flat. Am I right?" 

He was right. Yesterday was evidence. I drew a heavy sigh.

"And this new sound of yours will work better than you think," Freddie went on, and might have said more but we were slowing to a stop. I looked out the window to see Paul Prenter locking the front door of his residence (I couldn't tell if it was a townhouse or just a garden variety apartment).

Freddie tapped my shoulder. "Do me a favor, dear, and slide up to the front with Rudy, would you?"

He wasn't kidding around. I got out of the car. Prenter was approaching as I walked around to the front seat. When our eyes met, he immediately stopped in his tracks and scowled with recognition. I waved. 

Freddie hopped out when Paul planted himself there on the cobblestones. "Freddie, do you know who this is?" Paul said coldly.

"Of course I do," Freddie answered. "This is Eve."

"She's the one what snuck into your flat, Fred!" he snarled, as though I had suddenly turned into marble and lost all sentience. 

Freddie ignored the sentence. "She's coming with us to Wessex."

"Why?"

"Because I want her to. My God, Paul, loosen up."

"So you are Paul," I smiled, drawing my lips back in a dazzling "Hello, I hate you" smile. "Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prenter."

Prenter recalled his manners. "Charmed, I'm sure," he mumbled, and put out his hand for a nauseatingly limp-wristed handshake.

Freddie frowned. "How'd you know his last name?"

I smiled. "I pay attention," I said evasively, hoping Freddie wouldn't remember having never said Paul's last name around me. "I'll leave you boys to it." With that I parked myself in the passenger seat and shut the door. They got back into the Rolls and talked in low, insistent voices together all the way to the studio. 

This temporary lull gave me a chance to update the log, since Rudy even now was not, nor would really ever be, a good chat partner. I had a whole morning still to account for anyhow. I whipped out my journal and wrote with total abandon:

**_Day 7 (A whole week! Sweet Lord, how much longer will you hold out on me? Where's that stupid Relic?): Started the day off with a bang. A bang like the sound, like a gun going off, not the other- oh, well, never mind. Freddie and I aren't there yet. And we won't be, we won't be, no way, God forbid. NEVER! What would Minsy think anyway, his boyfriend running around with the likes of me? Anyway, Freddie's found the smart phone and he knows how to turn it on, so I need to make sure he doesn't find out the password. And just before we left he put his arms around me and whispered some very naughty words and oh, it was so hot-_ **

Frantically I raised my pen to scratch out the last line. In my hesitation, I had the chance to read the rest of what I'd written and I went white as eggshells. Had Rudy stored a scourging whip in the floorboards, I would have at once started using it on myself. 

"Holy Moses!" I exclaimed aloud.

The car hushed. Freddie asked, "What now?"

I stammered, "Um, nothing, just, uh, lost my mind for a moment."

Paul muttered something under his breath. Instinctively I glanced behind at them. I couldn't hear what he said myself, but it sent Freddie into hysterical laughter as he covered his mouth to hide his ever-visible teeth. I still don't know if they were laughing about me. I hope not.

I looked the passage over again, and decided it would only damage the paper to make a bunch of chicken scratch marks over my neat though archaic cursive, so I left it, instead opting for more control going forward:

_**-And now I'm sitting in Freddie's car, with he and Paul Prenter, a.k.a. the pudding-faced Antichrist, right behind me. I'm going to apparently assist in recording "Melancholy Blues" with Freddie. Not sure how that will go since I've lost any voice I had. Paul hates me, it's obvious. I don't think too highly of him myself. I feel like I need to watch my back- mind my p's and q's, so to speak. He's dangerous. How do I tell Freddie? That's not something you just walk up and say to someone. "Hey, Freddie, I know I'm still busy playing dumb and I shouldn't know anything about Paul, but can you ditch this guy for me, I think he'll be your doom and stuff. Thanks." Yeah, that won't work.  
** _

_**NFOs: He gets very defensive where Minns is concerned. I cannot ask too many of the wrong questions, or else he clams up. Freddie was laughing at Prenter's joke and he covered his mouth. He's self-conscious about the teeth. Why doesn't he cover his mouth when he's laughing with me? I don't think I've seen him do it once when it's just the two of us. Funny. Maybe I don't make him self-conscious. I don't see why he ought to be anyway. He's such a beautiful man. Those eyes! It's all I can do not to just fall right into them. Last night I really wish he'd tried to ki-** _

Violently I slammed the journal shut. That was more than enough. 

Fortunately, I wasn't really bothering anyone by making so much noise. We had arrived at the studio. 

"...And when we hit the club tonight, I'll introduce you to him," Paul was informing Freddie. I watched my friend nod submissively as they hopped out of the car and walked toward Wessex.

I heard Rudy take a deep breath. I turned and caught the last second of Rudy shaking his head.

"You okay, Rudy?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm quite well," he said, straightening up. "Go on with them."

So I grabbed my backpack and started behind the two men, wondering how it was that the spawn of Satan himself and a sinfully handsome, Dracula lookalike could both stroll so easily into a church-turned-studio. 

_Freddie is a very lucky man,_ I found myself musing. _Such a nice body._

This time, I didn't even bother repressing the thoughts. It wouldn't have been any use. Great. I'd officially crossed the line of admiration and found myself in new territory: physical attraction. 

No, that was an understatement. I had always been physically attracted to him to some degree, thanks to his pretty eyes and the voice. Whatever Freddie's true affection (or lack thereof) for me happened to be, now my friendly feelings for him were peppered with something that had much more of a kick: lust. It had come so far, I had to acknowledge the feeling. I didn't want it, and I had every inclination to fight it, but for now, it existed and it was real.

And from the looks of my journal, it was only getting worse.

 

 

 


	27. Studio Tricks

As we walked in, we could hear faint punk guitars crunching away in the other studio.

Freddie winced. "God, what is that rubbish?"

"Sex Pistols," the receptionist replied helpfully. "They're in there now."

"Say no more," Freddie sighed. "That's all we need."

"They signed on about the same time as you did," she explained, clearly in the Sex Pistols camp. Upon noticing me, she my old friend gave me an icy stare of welcome.

I smiled back with as much warmth as I could muster. "Good morning!" I tried to shout cheerily, but in my sandpaper voice I wound up screeching the words. I wanted to try again, and made a feeble attempt at clearing my throat, but whatever was holding my voice hostage back in there sent me instead into a coughing fit.

Freddie broke from Paul and asked, "Are you okay?"

I smiled between hacks. "Go on without me, save yourself, I'll only be in the way-"

"Good God. Evie, it's a cold you've got, and a very little one at that. You act like you've caught f---ing pneumonia."

"I'm all right," I croaked. "But seriously, Freddie, I can't do this."

"I'm certain we'd all be much happier if we let her go," Paul chimed in. I put my tongue between my teeth and bit.

Freddie held up his index finger at Paul, then replied, "Make up your mind, dear. Are you all right, or are you not? Because if you're all right, you can do this easy."

"Okay, I'm not all right."

"Wrong answer."

I pleaded, "Freddie, can't I just watch? I don't want to be recorded. I'm deathly afraid of tapes and people taping with tapes."

"Recorded?" Freddie frowned. "Darling, who said anything about recording?"

"But I-" I cut myself off. "But I thought that was the whole point!"

"Really, Eve. Did I ever say we would be recording you? I said we needed your voice. Doesn't necessarily mean we're going to lay down tracks with it."

"Oh!" I blinked, then slowly realized what Freddie was telling me. So the future wasn't about to be rewritten! Sure, "Melancholy Blues" still had the forbidden second verse now, but that too could be handled with finesse. My body relaxed. "Whew! I thought you meant me actually singing into the can for future use."

Freddie laughed. "You silly girl. I just never knew I could add _vain_ to your list."

"Aw, man, now we have to listen to you say stuff like that. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions, okay? Should have remembered what happens every single time you assume- though I dare say you're already an ass so it wouldn't make much difference for you."

"Ah! Now we're complete." With a little snicker, Freddie started counting off on his fingers. "Eve in a nutshell: a vain, beautiful, stubborn smart-aleck."

_Projecting again, are we, Freddie?_

"Someone mention me?" Roger piped as he entered the building.

"Don't know." He glanced at me. "Evie, did I say 'delinquent'?"

Roger gave Freddie the V-sign, the one that doesn't mean "peace." _What a clever comeback_ , I remarked to myself.

Roger's eyes rested on me, and he at once changed his attitude. "Well, hello, Eve, fancy you coming round here!" His little mouth curved into its perfect smile while his eyes tried to sparkle.

"Hullo, Sneakers- uh, Roger, right?"

"Right as rain, baby," he cooed, taking my hands. "How long do we get to keep you?"

"All day," Freddie replied.

"Perfect," said Roger. "A bit too short, but we can work with that."

"She's here strictly on a business basis," Freddie explained hastily, when Paul poked his shoulder and all but goaded him into the control room, leaving Roger and myself virtually alone. Unless you count Jane Frost at the front, which made three. Every molecule that composed me ached to follow Freddie. I'd never been by myself with Roger before, and for some reason, it made me very nervous. Not in the exciting sort of manner that Freddie sparked in me (and the feelings he stirred were indeed exciting; it was nice to have reached the point where I could admit as much), but just good old-fashioned unease.

"Well? Shall we go in?" I suggested.

"I plan to," Roger grinned.

I did my best to look unimpressed. Good grief. Any more sleazy-cheesy and this guy could be Austin Powers. _The kid keeps trying, I have to give him that_.

Somehow I hadn't the heart to tell him I'd never been too turned on by pretty blond boys, and that I was much more taken with the dark-eyed Persian prince now not-so-subtlely watching the two of us as we walked in. Two sound engineers were hunched over the console. And John Deacon sat on the corner sofa with his bass guitar in his lap, a stack of neatly handwritten lyrics at his side. I waved hello, and he winked back. 

Interested, I glanced at his lyrics. At the top were the words "Spread Your Wings," everything written in black pen except for three lines in the chorus, which John had scrawled in light gray pencil: "Pull yourself together/ Cos you know you should do better/ That's because you're a free man." 

I had to smile. 

"Business, eh?" Roger repeated, picking his teeth. "What sort of business?"

I pointed at Freddie. "Ask him. I don't know."

Roger looked his way, and Freddie shrugged, saying, "We'll see. If the need arises, then we'll find out."

"Oh. That kind of business," Roger nodded sagely. He turned to me. "Wanna see the studio?"

"I already have. I was here a few days ago."

"But we had to move everything to put people on the risers. Now it's all set up. I'd love to show you my drums."

"I'd like that," I said politely.

"You'll be disappointed," Freddie mumbled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Freddie's mouth twitch. I stifled a terribly immature grin. _Damn you, Freddie._ _I've got it coming from both sides now_. So much for what was left of my innocence.

To John, I said, keeping my face deadpan, "So did everything smooth out okay?"

"Smooth out?" John squinted.

"Smooth out whatever it was you called about last night."

"Oh." John's gaze dropped to his shoes. "That."

Freddie joined me. "Oh, yes. So? Did you get it working- I mean, worked out?"

"Not yet," John said quietly. "I'll tell you later."

Roger grabbed his sticks, announcing "I never know what you two are so on about lately," then strode into the recording room, mussing one of the sound guys' hair as he passed.

"Brian on his way?" Freddie asked the air.

The sound guy whose hair Roger had spared replied, "He called, said he was running a bit behind. He says to start without him."

"Oh, we don't need his permission for that," Freddie quipped. "How far behind is he anyway? Did he say?"

"Not long. A quarter to half hour."

"That's just enough time."

"For what?" Roger chirped over the intercom.

At that, Freddie stood up and clapped his hands. "Everyone, everyone, your attention if you please."

Roger set down his sticks on the snare drum and leaned back; John folded his hands, ready to listen; the sound guys turned their chairs around to face us.

In a finger's snap, Freddie slid his showman's mask across his features. "While Brian is taking his time in arriving," he said, holding down the intercom button so Roger could hear, "I thought we might make use of our own by putting that new album song in motion."

"Oh, Freddie, are you still pushing for that jazz shit?" Roger whined.

Freddie's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you wait and let me finish before you make a f---ing ass out of yourself in front of the lady?"

_Too late_ , I thought to myself.

"Speaking of whom," he continued, taking my hand and bringing me to the center, "this is the elusive Eve Dubroc. She has, um, agreed to help me show you darlings what the finished piece will sound like once it's recorded."

"Freddie, I've already said, I don't want any part of that stupid song," Roger protested. "No way am I going to play some Sinatra-y, rat-a-tat-tat jazz thing. We're not the-"

Why don't you just give us a listen, hm?" Freddie smiled and drew me into the room where Roger sat fuming in his drummer's nest. John followed, a small smile creeping across his lips.

Freddie situated himself upon the piano bench and cracked his knuckles. "Got the words, dear?"

I darted back into the control room for my journal. Since I hadn't been alert enough to ransack the flat for loose pieces of paper, I had written down the final version of the song in my log. I flipped to the right page, tore out the page, and discovered to my dismay that I had written a section of my notes on the back side, which included an in-depth description of Freddie's untoward behavior that morning and a few choice NFOs- certainly nothing I wanted him to see. If Freddie found out I'd been analyzing his every move, recording it in the name of science...

"Found them yet?" Freddie called impatiently.

"Two seconds!" _I'll just make sure he doesn't turn it over_.

So I hurried back in and carefully placed the lyrics on the sheet music holder. "Good girl," he said.

I bent down to his ear and whispered one more time, "Again, I hope I don't have to tell you that I can't sing today-"

"Darling, what was the favor I asked for?" he said.

"No no's. Or at least as few as possible."

"Right." He leaned forward, and placed his arm around my neck so I couldn't go anywhere when the tips of our noses touched. "So," he closed his eyes and puckered his lips so that they just barely grazed mine as he finished, "shhh."

CRASH!

We turned around, pulling away. Roger sat there with a drum stick poised over the crash cymbal- a warning.

"Strictly business, remember, Fred?" Roger said.

"Yeah, Fred." I smiled. "Strictly business."

"Exactly," Freddie agreed. "So you, Rog, do away with the jackal smile, it looks like it hurts-" and turning back to me- "and you, my dear, believe. Just believe."

With a chuckle, Freddie looked pointedly at the sound guys, said "Now, Ratty," and started playing the piano as though nothing had happened. I cleared my throat, pretending his little tease had had no effect (although my heart was beating in double time). On reflex I looked through the control room window. The sound guys didn't seem to have noticed, but even from this distance I saw Paul's face contort, ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed as they focused in on me. Then Freddie began to sing, and I snapped out of it and awaited my cue.

At last it was time for my verse, and with a precautionary grimace I went for it. "The music has faded," I rasped, "And I'm feelin' so jad-ed..."

Freddie started ad-libbing underneath the words, which gave me a little more moxie. I sounded rougher than normal, but it wasn't anything we couldn't adjust. The third chorus harmonies we had worked out earlier, where I sang the higher part, we just sang in unison. Where before we definitely had a better blend, now our voices were different enough in quality where it still sounded good, like Michael Jackson and Mick Jagger.

One we finished, Roger's arms were still folded, but his expression was much less obstinate. John was nodding, convinced. Something was happening outside the control room, however; one of the sound guys got up to see what was the matter.

"Now, you boys know what to do," Freddie began to say, when a very unsavory-looking character with spiky hair stumbled into the control room. He was scrawny but troublesome, shoving back the sound guys when they tried to kick him out. Frightened, I put my hands on Freddie's shoulders. But for some reason not one member of Queen looked too concerned. Roger rolled his eyes and decided to light up a smoke. John moved toward the window to get a closer look.

Freddie remarked, "You know, with all that money he's made, you would think he could afford clothes without holes in them."

Through the intercom we could hear the kid (and he was a kid, he couldn't have been much older than me at all) demanding to know what had happened to his f---ing mates and who were these ugly c---s in here taking up his studio.

"Who's that?" I whispered.

"A f--ing nuisance, that's who," Freddie muttered. "Stay here, please. I'll handle him."

Kissing the fingers of my left hand, he got up and strolled unafraid toward the vagabond intruder. Roger hesitated, then scrambled out of his nest after him. John and I traded a glance.

"So who is that?" I asked again.

"There are those," John said, "who call him Sid."

My eyes bugged out of my face. "Oh my gosh, oh no! It's this! I REMEMBER THIS!" With an excited scream, I flew into the control room with John in tow. No way was I missing any bit of this exchange.

Sid Vicious was still blathering in colorful language when I froze in the doorway, all ears. Just looking at him made me want to go take a shower. Freddie's back was straight, his hands planted on his hips. _Go get him, Fred!_

"What're you lookin' at, y' f---in' pansy?" Sid accosted him in sloppy English.

It stunned me, how calmly Freddie took that. I couldn't see his face, but even his voice bore no anger as he almost laughingly replied, "Darling, you don't want me to answer that. I might be honest."

"Aren't you that Freddie Mercury guy?"

"I am he."

"What y' doing round here?" he snarled, advancing menacingly. "Why aren't you out bringing ballet to the masses like you said?"

"Wait a minute," Freddie said, "aren't you Simon Ferocious or something?" As he spoke, he took Sid by the shoulder and pushed him towards the exit. "Believe me, dear, we're doing our best." 

"Get your f---ing hands off-"

"Take it easy, Stanley. Your boys can be found next door." With that, Freddie more or less threw the scamp out and closed the door behind him. 

Without thinking, I broke out in applause, inside reaching a high almost as euphoric as the "We Will Rock You" reaction. Freddie turned and immediately took a deep bow, saying "Thank you, thank you," his face shining with pride. It really was that short of a back and forth, but the most memorable moments are often the most fleeting ones.

Roger clapped him on the back. "Nice going, Fred," he said. Paul sat there brooding, throughout this whole time having not moved, his eyes still flaring coldly at me.

John tapped me on the shoulder. Toning down my grin, I whirled and bounced up and down on the balls of my feet. "Yes?"

He leaned forward and whispered, "What did you mean, when you said, 'I remember this'?"

I frowned. "What?"

"Just now. You acted like you were expecting all that. Like you'd been through all this before."

_Oops._

In my dizzy happiness I struggled to form a thoughtful lie. "Uh, um... Just a slip of the tongue."

"Yeah. Like knowing that I'd built my own amp?"

"Freddie told me."

"What kind of-" He stopped and pulled me back into the studio so we could talk in a little more privacy. But still John whispered, "Why would he tell you that?"

"I don't know, it just came up one day. What does this have to do with now?"

"Because I think there's more to you than, uh, than you've let on. Intentionally, anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because of that weird little-"

"Weird little what?"

"Uh- weird little, um, way you have of just not being surprised at anything. You get excited, true, but it's a sort of anticipating excitement."

My heart fluttered. Was John on to me? But how?

"You just seem to know things are going to happen before they do," John said. "How do you do it? I mean, maybe that's just your way, but it borders on frightful sometimes."

"How?" I repeated. The truth melted sourly on my tongue, and I grimaced swallowing it back. I could not say those terrible words: "I'm from the future, I know next to everything about Queen, and Freddie's days are eons shorter than yours."

I didn't want to tell John, not if I couldn't tell Freddie. I looked back through the window at him, smiling at the way he slouched against Ratty's chair as he listened to some song playing back. _He's so slim_ , I thought to myself. _I love that nose_. _I love that heavy brow._ _God, if only I could tell him._

John put two fingers under my chin and drew me back around facing him. "How do you do it, Eve?"

"Well," I sighed, with a surrendering shrug, "I'm a psych- a psychic."

At this John burst out laughing, showing the space between his teeth. 

"No, really!" I said, marking this as number twenty-six on my list of Whoppers. 

John stopped. "Really? A psychic?"

"No, not really, but it's as close as I can come to the actual truth without being considered a loony."

"Oh, who knows, maybe you are and you don't realize it. Go on, let's hear a prediction. Foretell the future!"

I closed my eyes a moment, smiling. "I predict that in a matter of seconds Brian is going to storm in and say 'Melancholy Blues' has potential."

John chuckled, "That IS a far cry from-"

SLAM!

Brian rushed into the control room, the Red Special in his hand. John's jaw dropped _,_ as did mine. _I was just kidding!_

"That's amazing!" he exclaimed.

"Now, now," I downplayed. "That was pure fluke. If Brian changes his mind, that _will_ be a miracle."

And from Brian's expression, he didn't look like he had the patience for another of Freddie's sales pitches. Freddie either didn't notice or didn't care; even from all the way out here in the church recording room, I could see behind his eyes a new series of cajoles brewing. I ran back in, hoping maybe I could help out in some way. Not that I felt I could, but I was ever optimistic.

"And the traffic was terrible, so I'm sorry," Brian was apologizing. "What did I miss?"

Freddie grinned. "So glad you asked." He rubbed his hands together.

Brian looked over at me, perplexed. "Why is she here?"

"His idea," I said, pointing at Freddie.

"You're so loyal," Freddie smirked. "Ratty, would you mind playing that track back for us?"

"Wait, you recorded that?" I cried. "But you said-"

"I said, it didn't necessarily mean we would record you, but on this occasion, we did. That's all. Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You are such a tricky snake," I sighed, but the smile was still etched into my face.

"And you need to listen a little more carefully. Ratty?"

Everyone fell silent. Ratty pushed the proper button and threw the right switches, and suddenly Freddie's and my voices, though plagued with ambient noise from John setting down the bass guitar and Roger coughing at random intervals, resounded in the control room. For the first few seconds, I went hot with embarrassment, but when we started singing together, my nerves became a little less raw. Brian's face remained motionless, and Freddie winked when he caught me staring at him. I hadn't meant to; I couldn't help admiring his body, not when there was so much to be admired.

As our makeshift recording ended, we turned to Brian for his input. He sighed. "I still don't like it."

Freddie nodded, and said, "Well, we'd still have to throw in the percussion and the bass, but-"

"I said it before, Freddie, I'll say it again. It's not rock and roll. It's not even in the same postal code as rock and roll."

_You think this is bad, man_ , _wait till Hot Space_ , I thought to myself.

"And I don't know what she's supposed to lend to it," Brian continued, gesturing toward me. "She doesn't add a thing except give it a little more character."

I still glow whenever I think of that line. Whenever I feel down, even now, I seriously do think to myself, "Brian said I gave that song character." Isn't that ridiculous? But it's true.

"Oh, but Brian, dear, come on-" Freddie began.

"I mean, yes, record it, but I don't see it anywhere near _News of the World_ ," Brian stated. "Maybe we can make it a B-side to one of the singles."

Freddie's eyes flashed. I could hear the retorts coming even before he spoke them. 

"You're right," I said quietly.

Every head turned. Freddie glared at me, accusations of treachery now developing about his lips.

"What?" Brian said.

"Um... uh, I mean, I'm just blowing smoke here, but you may be right, it still needs something."

Freddie closed his eyes. It was unclear if I was winning Brian, but undoubtedly I was losing Freddie. And I wanted to keep Freddie more. I talked faster. "The tone and tempo of this song is such that you probably could afford a little more zip to give it a rock edge, if that's what you're wanting. I don't think it needs it per se, but I like smooth rock-less jazz and I'm not the astronomy genius guitar god, so what do I know?"

I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers.

Very slowly, then, Brian said, "Well, I suppose I'd still need to hear it with the rhythm section..."

I blinked. Was I hearing right?

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Well, naturally, dear. We mustn't jump to conclusions so soon! Roger and John would be happy to demonstrate. Wouldn't you?"

John nodded. Roger muttered, looking at me, "I guess."

"There! You see? Come come come, let's get to it dears, Brian still needs a little help," Freddie said, but not before taking my hand and squeezing it as he drew me back into the studio for some more inevitable recording shenanigans. I was not about to die.

John nodded at me and winked, mouthing the word, "Impressive."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	28. Yoko No No's

Needless to say, with Roger's and John's sonic volcano thrust into the song, Brian came a long way toward giving "Melancholy Blues" a chance. But there was a catch; there had to be a guitar solo or to the B-side dungeon with it.

And Freddie turned to me and with a big satisfied grin asked, "I dunno, Evie, what do you think?"

Brian muttered something under his breath. But Freddie didn't miss much; he turned and said, "Sorry, Brian, didn't catch that."

"Nothing."

"Oh, do tell. We're all mad to know what you said."

Brian shook his head. "I just said, 'Oh my God, it's Yoko.'"

I widened my eyes, putting a hand against my neck as if clutching at a string of pearls. "I just know you weren't referring to me."

"Darling, really, what a thing to say!" Freddie put in. "Evie's the exact opposite of Yoko, I practically had to drag her over here- and you know, I think she'd die before publicly disguising herself as a bag."

"You don't know," I protested.

Freddie just shot me a sidelong You've-got-to-be-kidding-me look.

"She's Okoy," Roger joked. "That's what she is!"

"I'll take that," I said, then added in what was supposed to be a whispery Yoko Ono impression, "But I really believe, you know, that this song needs a guitar part as well, for, you know, John," I laid my hand against Freddie's cheek, "sometimes we must dance together, you know, before we can hear the sweet music that plays within us and without us."

Freddie blinked. "So, yes?" 

"Of course, my dear walrus, now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back in bed to protest the war."

Even Brian laughed at that. I consider that yet another feather in my cap; not only did Brian say I gave something character, he also laughed at something I said.

Of course, the Queen fellows didn't solely work on "My Melancholy Blues" that day. Since "Blues" was such a simple song (when compared with about ninety-five percent of the band's repertoire, that is), they basically completed the rough cut before lunchtime. 

I don't remember what the place where we ate was called, but all seven of us (Queen, Paul, John Reid who arrived a bit later than the rest of us, and myself) went in our respective cars. Freddie sat in the back seat with Paul again, and when we arrived and sat at our table, Paul carefully positioned himself between the two of us. The old Pudding Face clearly couldn't afford to let me corrupt his eventual disciple, not when his promising hedonist lifestyle was just about to bloom. 

John Reid took the chair at Freddie's right; there was no way I was getting close to him now. And as soon as I considered moving over next to Deacy, Brian sat next to him. And I knew that even after this morning, I rubbed Brian the wrong way. Luckily, Roger plopped down on my other side, so I was flanked by both a wolf and a vicious snake. It was only a matter of time to see who would strike first.

I think lunch is only worth the mention because, again, I was starving (you'd think I would learn to eat something before any adventures by now), and therefore my judgment was weak. I know that seemed like a constant state for me, but I couldn't help my raging metabolism. If anything, my ability to look like a complete idiot reached new heights that day.

The waiter came by and started taking our drink orders. Quickly I looked over the options. Coffee. They had coffee. Oh, and orange juice. Mm. Coffee could wait. I needed a long tall glass of OJ right away. A couple of people ordered cocktails, a glass of wine. They could have them. I wanted OJ.

"And for you, ma'am?" the waiter said to me.

Freddie spoke up before me. "Dear, she's on my tab, just to let you know."

John Reid protested, "Freddie, I have this-"

"Well, I've got her, and no questions asked," he announced, and pointed at Paul. "So is this fellow."

"Thank you," I called across Paul.

"Your order, love?"

I still had Freddie's voice ringing in my ears while I said, as I licked my lips, "I need some serious BJ."

All the air sucked out of the room. Too late my mistake (I decided it was a mistake; but any proper psychiatrist would have called it a major Freudian slip) dawned on me. There wasn't one man at that table who hadn't heard what I said. Everyone turned a little pink. Their faces were all pinched with the laughs they were stifling. Roger covered his mouth.

The blood rushed up into my cheeks as quietly I corrected, "I mean, OJ."

Our waiter's face looked like a ripe tomato, but he kept his cool as he finished taking our orders.

Only after the waiter ran away from us did Freddie at last sigh and say loudly, "Good Plan B, darling. I don't think the other comes by the glass."

Everyone lost it. I covered my face, wishing I could liquefy and trickle down into a storm drain. Even Brian and Paul, the stoics of the troop, shared a chortle. Still I laughed, though mortified.

It didn't end there either, as I innocently ordered a dish of bangers and mash, a traditional British treat. Under any other circumstances, nobody at the table would have batted an eye. But I'd set the precedent, and again the men laughed and poked fun, as they decided I wasn't the stuck-up nun they'd taken me for. I didn't want to look like some sex-obsessed vixen in sheep's clothing, but I must say everyone's attitude toward me (aside of Freddie, he knew me already) drastically relaxed. I was speaking their language. Unintentionally, but I was doing it nonetheless.

Handsome Roger as well quit trying so hard to be shocking, started behaving a little more normally. I'd even go so far as to say he was friendly. And so, in my naive way, I let my guard down a bit.

"So tell me, Okoy," Roger said after a while, using my new nickname, "how did you get in that closet?"

I laughed. "Would you believe me if I told you, 'I don't know'?"

"I would not," he smiled. "Will you at least say where you're from?"

I didn't live with Roger, so I could make myself into whatever I wanted. "I'm from Seattle," I lied. 

"How did you wind up here? But then, I guess you're not going to tell me that either."

I swooped my arms in the air (there was no doubt of Freddie's influence on me now), announcing, "I was a thief in the night, and I came like the Day of the Lord." 

"Actually, she's magic," John Deacon said quietly. 

Roger's eyes widened. "You're a witch?"

"No!" I said. 

"I mean, she's psychic," John corrected himself. He gave me a knowing half-smile.

Roger chuckled. "Same thing. So do you read palms?"

"For a price," I sang.

"I'll pay you back tonight," Roger said ambiguously so I could only speculate on his intent, and pushed his upturned hand at me.

"I like my money up front," I replied dryly. "If you're paying tonight, then you get the palm reading tonight."

Roger didn't look too discouraged. "When can I see you tonight, then?"

"She'll be out with me this evening, Rog," Freddie interrupted. 

I craned my neck to look at Freddie. "I will?"

Paul turned to Freddie, disgusted. "What?"

Roger's eyes lit up. "Where?"

Brian savagely stabbed at his salad, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

Deacy stirred his tea and listened.

John Reid kept eating.

Freddie looked back at me and said, "Won't you, darling?"

I stammered, "Uh, I mean, if it's no problem for your friends-"

"Of course not!" Paul ground his teeth, but Freddie ignored him, continuing, "And anyone else who wants to join us, you are welcome to. We'll be at the Heatwave tonight."

Roger smiled. "I'll be there."

It was John Reid, though, who forced the boys back on track again, and they set aside talk of play for the more pressing matters of work.

When we returned to the studio, we were six instead of seven. Paul had taken a cab back to his home, assuring Freddie he wouldn't forget about the club. 

"Are we finished with Melancholy Blues for today?" I asked Freddie as we walked back in.

"As far as I know," he answered, "we've got other things to-"

"Good!" I cried, then ran to the piano to get the lyrics off the stand. 

Freddie glided in behind me. "Hey, hey, what are you doing?" 

"We, uh, don't need this anymore, so I'm putting it back," I explained, sticking the ripped words into my journal. 

"Dear God," he said aloud. "First, how you so much as got here, then the Magic Mirror, now the words for our song. So secretive, dear. Whatever for?"

"I never said I wouldn't show you what the Magic Mirror can do, I just said you weren't ready for it _yet_."

"Mm-hm. I know what 'yet' means. It means 'never.' You are too much." Freddie turned from me, brows knit in would-be concentration. 

The rest of the afternoon, I spent curled up on the studio sofa, out of everyone's way, while I filled up my phone with priceless photographs of the studio and the men hard at work. I took more shots of Freddie, snapping him whenever his chiseled face turned in profile, than anyone else there. When no one was looking, I jotted down the occasional note. _Does nobody think I'm a reporter?_ I asked myself. _Or am I too bumbling?  
_

Mostly, I was treated to lengthy jam sessions on Brian's and Freddie's ends, plus quite a few petty rows between the three prima donnas. I did hear, though, a very early demo take of Brian's "It's Late," and it was all I could do not to break out singing it when he played that first little blues riff. As well, during a moment of lull, Freddie started playing that beautiful instrumental piece, the one that reminded me of "Jealousy." _Why doesn't he put the thing to words? It's gorgeous._

Whatever my initial desire to talk Freddie out of the second verse entirely vanished by the end of the session. Sticking my nose into the works by helping persuade Brian ensured that I too had skin in the game, and "My Melancholy Blues" officially became my personal pride and joy. Granted, I had only contributed a verse and my voice, but I had geeked out like crazy over merely being one of fifteen pairs of feet on those drum risers. This called for at least three more Macarena (or shall we say, _Mercurena_ ) moments. 

But it seemed that these emotion explosions had already been booked without my knowledge. The Heatwave, eh? I wasn't a clubber. Oh, well, it was out of my hands anyway. No no's. I was without choice. And disco clubs would likely be a lot more fun than EDM raves from my world. 

Rudy carted the two of us home in a hurry. For it was indeed fairly late by the time the boys called it a day, and Freddie wanted to freshen up before yet another night on the town. Since he had to fill the car up with petrol, he left us on our own and said he'd be right back to pick us up.

"Where we're going, you'll get to wear your jumpsuit," Freddie announced, opening the front door. "And after all your silly talk about not needing it!" 

"I'm not wearing that thing," I informed him as I walked in, "And you can't make me."

He let me stroll up the stairs a way before shouting, "Oh, CAN'T I?"

Freddie charged the stairway. With a scream I scrambled for my room but he was too fast for me. He seized me round my waist and locked his arms. I couldn't worm out of his grasp. 

"Need I remind you, darling, of what you promised me today?" he purred.

"Uncle," I rasped.

"That's better," Freddie said, and let go. 

I rolled my eyes. "What excuse will you have tomorrow, when you have to think up another favor? Because it has to be different from today."

"That's too far into the future," he dismissed, "I live in the now. And now, I want you to put on the jumpsuit." He punctuated the sentence with a hard slap across my bottom. 

"Cheeky," I muttered. But I did as he asked. I went into my room and changed clothes, slipping into the ivory one-piece with the wide pant legs. I was just about to strap on my very fashionable platform heels when the phone rang.   
  


I padded down the stairs to the phone and picked it up. At the very same instant, there was a hollow click and Freddie also lifted his bedroom receiver. He and the other person began talking immediately; they clearly had no idea I was also on the line. It was rude to so blatantly eavesdrop, so I lowered the phone to hang up only to hear Freddie say "Mary."

Mary? Ooo. This I had to hear. I picked the phone back up.

"...Glad you called," Freddie was saying, although his voice didn't necessarily sound too thrilled in itself. "Doing all right?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Very. How are you and your... friend?"

"We're- I'm fine, and I think she's okay," he replied. "Hey, listen, I'll be out tonight with my mates, if you'd like to come along, I'd love to see you."

"I'd like that. When are you going?"

"I'm thinking of heading out in about half an hour or so, and uh, it would be splendid if you came too, it'll be a great time."

"Wait." Mary's voice cooled again. "Is your... little helper going to be there too?"

I felt my insides writhe. _Mary, I'm not after your Freddie! I may be physically attracted to him, but I'm not here to take your place!_

Freddie replied, now uncomfortable, "Well, I mean, um..."

"That means yes," Mary said with a sigh. _  
_

"Darling, I told you there's nothing between me and that girl, she just lives here."

"Then why can't you leave her at the flat?"

POW! That came right out of nowhere, socking me in the teeth. 

"Mary, she doesn't want anything from me, and I'll see to it she doesn't get in the way. Are you still coming?"

Long pause. "Well, I don't know... there's a lot of things I have to do tonight..."

"Do them later!"

"I have to go. Perhaps another time, Freddie."

I closed my eyes, for a brief moment asking God what was He thinking, letting me loose on these poor people who obviously loathed me. 

Freddie said quietly, "Oh. Oh, okay. But you're still on for the dinner party?"

"Of course," she said. "I'll definitely see you then- and maybe some time later in between."

"I hope so."

"So do I."

"Have a good night, darling."

"You too, Freddie."

_Click._

I stood there with the phone still clenched in my hand. My bottom lip began to tremble. I was ruining everything. I hadn't meant to do it. I hadn't meant to come here at all. It was clear to me what was going on. Mary hated me and I was unraveling Freddie's relationship with her and I wasn't even trying. And she was so important to him. How dare I.

Freddie came down the stairs, his head bowed a bit. When he saw me, he said with a glued-on smile, "That was just some telephone salesman, I told him to take his wares and such and stick them up h-" 

His eyes fell upon the phone still in my hand, now droning one single tone. The mask fell away again. 

Very quietly he said, "I, um,... I guess you heard all that."

"I don't have to go, Freddie," I croaked. Even as dead as I sounded, my voice quivered. 

"I want you to."

"No, you don't. You want to be nice. You don't have to be nice. I'll stay here. I'm so sorry."

He took a step closer, put his hands out toward me.

I walked into the kitchen, my nose beginning to cramp. I wanted to cry. "Go with your friends, I'm nothing but a pain in the ass, just go. Please."

"Evie-"

"I don't want to screw up your life!" I exploded. "I don't want to be your Yoko! Go get Mary already! I'm no fun, you said so yourself. I'm not your speed-"

All of a sudden he gripped me by the arms and shook me as he talked. "Eve, shut the f--- up and listen to me," Freddie hissed. "First, stop throwing those words in my face. I didn't mean them, and I thought we'd discussed that whole thing yesterday. Second, you are anything but a problem for me."

"Liar," I whispered.

"You're only anything close to a problem when you say things like that," he said. 

"Not true. Your friends don't like me and that's a problem. Paul looks at me like he wants to put a bullet through my head." 

"My friends are crazy," he said. "F--- 'em."

I covered my half-smile. "What about Mary?"

"Mary, Mary," Freddie sighed. "Don't worry about Mary, she's just- darling, don't cry," he cooed.

"I'm not crying."

"You're this close. Your balloon's about to pop. Here." Freddie put his arms around me and held me close. "Can I tell you something?"

"What?"

With a gentle hand, he brushed away a single tear sliding down my face. "You were wonderful today. Couldn't have done it without you."

I shook my head. "Okay, now you're really pouring on the baloney-"

"I am not! Brian wasn't budging, and then you slipped in and changed his mind. Do you have any idea how tough a nut he is?"

"You could have cracked him just as well without me. Perhaps better."

Freddie looked into my eyes. "Do you believe anything I say to you?"

"I believe that there's nothing between us," I said. "That, I believe."

"Well, that actually wasn't true, you know."

"Good frickin' grief. I rest my case."

"What I mean is, we are friends after all- aren't we? At least give me that."

I shrugged. In the back of my mind I resurrected Rudy's question, and I said, "A friend is all I want to be for you. I don't want to cause trouble."

"Oh, but you're more than just my quirky friend." _Oh, really! I'M quirky!_ "You're my... my little stray kitten. _"  
_

I grinned. "I'm a feral beast. Cool." 

"It's just the way you came to me, dear. It's so surreal. Like you just appeared in my closet one fine day, and you're sweet and frustrating and unbelievably fun - and don't you dare say those words about my speed ever again."

"I'm a stray kitten," I repeated quietly. "That makes you the spoiled house cat."

He smiled, bent towards my face. "Does the stray kitten like this pampered pussy?" 

"Most of the time," I whispered huskily. 

"I'll take that," he said, closing his eyes.

BRRIIIIIIIING!

Freddie looked up. "F---," he muttered. 

I laughed. "I should go put my shoes on- you're in high demand today." Pulling away I started for the stairs.

But Freddie grabbed my hand and drew me back. "Oh, no, not this time," he said.

Very gently, then, he kissed me. It was a single kiss, nothing too involved, but it was indeed the first official kiss I shared with Freddie. And I just stood there taking it. I didn't even close my eyes. But my heart went into overdrive, and the room seemed to lean to one side; that, I couldn't control. 

When Freddie pulled away and saw no _visible_ reaction, I could swear I saw his jaw clench. In a shivering, but not exactly angry, voice he said, "You are too, too much." 

"How do you mean?" I said spryly. 

"Good God. Go put your shoes on, Yoko. We're leaving fairly soon." And, rather stiffly I thought, he marched over to the phone to answer it.

 


	29. The Heatwave

Delayed reactions are either very helpful, or very damaging, I still can't decide which.  I consider them fantastic emotional protection, but if they happen too often or take too long, waiting until you find solitude to release them, other people might start wondering if you have any feelings in the first place.  However you choose to see delayed reactions, I had one as soon as Freddie's back was turned.

_He kissed me_ , I said to myself.  _Oh, my gosh, he kissed me.  On the lips.  Freddie kissed me on the lips._

I hurried back to my room, supposedly to put on my stilts- I mean, shoes.  But as soon as I closed the door, I felt my limbs go numb, and a wave of tenderness washed over me.  Again, it was a very innocent little kiss, but at that time, I was still quite new to the whole canoodling thing, and proper kisses meant a great deal. 

With a dizzy smile, I nuzzled my head against the door frame.  I laid my hand over my lips and softly laughed to myself.  _I'm glad he doesn't see me this way,_ I told myself.  _It's bad enough I desire him in silence; if he knew how twitterpated I am right now, I'd never hear the end of it._

Still, I flipped to a new page in my journal, and scrawled down another NFO: _**Freddie tastes like cinnamon vodka.  I found this out because he kissed me.  He smells like licorice and tastes like cinnamon vodka.  I just want to eat him up.  The question is, would I use a fork or a spoon?  Or is he a dish better suited for the fingers?**_

_Nice work, Julia, real scientific_ , I said to myself, not only to be sarcastic but also to remind myself that my name was in fact Julia, and not Eve, no matter how many times Freddie kept calling me that.

I rubbed my eyes.  This feeling only escalated each time I came near him, and multiplied by five with his every affectionate caress.  There was only one surefire cure for my worsening disease: leaving him.  But this bird could not fly; my wings were clipped but good.  And anyway, the idea of just up and deserting him seemed more unappealing the longer I was with him.  Don't misunderstand me, I still wanted desperately to go home.  But that didn't mean I wanted to leave Freddie; for all his moodiness and often quick temper, he was very dear to me.  He had such a way about him...

A hard fist rapped at the door.  "Are you quite through?"

"Coming!"  _Thanks for disturbing my reverie_ , I griped. Carelessly I opened the door only to be ambushed yet again.

_Click!_   BZZZ. 

Freddie lowered his camera.  "So let's get going, then."

"Are we still having camera wars?"

"Why?  Giving up so soon?"

"Why would I when I'm so far ahead?"

"What's the score?"

"Forty-one to three."

"How'd that happen?"

"You need film, all I need is memory space," I told him, brandishing my Android like a samurai sword.  "Your kung fu is not strong.  But I can't take a chance on leaving it anywhere tonight, so I'll go without.  I don't have any service anyway."  I tossed it on the bed.

"Service?"

"Phone service.  Cell signal.  You know."

But of course, he didn't know.  "Phone?  You can call people on it too?" 

I waved my hand the way he often did.  "Goodness me, Freddie, so many questions."

"Who can you call?"

"Nobody right now.  The phone that works is gone."

"This one's broken, too?"

"Too?" My brows furrowed.  "What do you mean, too?"

Freddie looked confused.  "You said broken."

'No, I said it was gone, not broken."

He shrugged.  "Sorry, dear, must have misheard you."

My face fell.  "God.  You got my hopes up, I thought maybe you knew where the Relic wa- hold on.  Tell me honestly, for the sake of my sanity." I took him by the arms.  "You don't have the Relic, broken or otherwise, do you?"

Freddie looked me deep in the eyes and held up his right hand.  "I swear to God, I do not have the Relic."

Rudy knocked on the door.  Freddie tried to turn and receive him, but I still held on and asked one more question- and a very unfair one at that.  "You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Freddie?"

"Of course not," he said.  "Would you lie to me?"

The word melted sourly on my tongue, but I still spat it out: "Never."

He smiled and hugged me.  "I didn't think so."

_Oh, dear God, I am in so deep..._

**********************************************************************************************

When we arrived at the club called the Heatwave, as might be expected, the usual suspects were clustered around Freddie: Peter Straker, Paul Prenter, and Rudy Barnes his driver. Since we'd picked up Paul, like before _(Doesn't this guy have his own transportation? I mean, come on),_ I hadn't gotten one word in edgewise with Freddie. As more of his friends, old and new, collected, I was progressively pushed to the back of the crowd, further away from the dark-eyed gem they surrounded, as if they were protecting him from me.

I started seeing a pattern before too long; when you are the only female in a crowd of seven or eight, you notice these things pretty early. _I feel like Black Widow from the Avengers, except without the super duper ninja moves- or the sex appeal_ , I said to myself. _I'm the token chick._

The Heatwave at once seemed pretty shady, and therefore downright cool, because it was one of those clubs with a not-so-obvious entrance.  The four of us got out of the Rolls and Rudy surrendered the steering wheel to a valet parking attendant, but I couldn't see a door or a club sign anywhere.  As Paul and Rudy fastened themselves to Freddie's side, we walked around to the side of the building.  There, in the shadows of the alley, an enormous slab of a metal door.  At the top was a small peep window which slid open when Freddie knocked.

"Password?" A gruff voice demanded.

Freddie purred, "Play it again, Sam."

The window slammed shut, and the deadbolt door swung open.  The three men strolled in with me straggling along behind.  As the bouncer closed it up again as soon as I'd cleared the threshold, I felt my stomach churn.  The stairs before us led down under the storefront building.  _Risky business_ , I remarked to myself, trying not to worry.  But the last time I'd visited a secret underground room, my whole life turned inside out.  I wasn't all that secure in how this evening would go down.

We came to another door, our crowd of four now increased to five since Peter Straker thought it would be cute to hide in the shadows and scare us when we neared the actual club entrance.  Without much further ado, we entered the Heatwave.

Dry ice billowed all over the crowded dance floor, the garish lights turning the smoke different colors to the beat of the music.  Despite the mirrorball and spotlights hanging from the high rafters, the place was dim, and I couldn't clearly pick out even the features of Rudy's face, who was nearest me.  Still, I wanted to make a good impression.  As nervous as I was, I lifted my chin and took long strides, my pant legs sweeping out with each step.  I couldn't look like some awkward groupie; tonight, I was one of the boys, here for a good time.  Whatever that meant.

Freddie and his posse made straight for the bar.  "The most expensive shit you've got, in the biggest glasses you've got," he ordered. 

"And what are _you_ having, Freddie love?" Peter teased as the bartender poured three nauseatingly tall glasses of Russian liquor.  

"Just a coffee for me," I said to the bartender.  "Sugar if you got it, please."

"This is a club, not a tea house," he grumbled.  

"I don't drink," I explained, as if he cared.

As people recognized Freddie, they fell over themselves trying to get near to him.  Rudy did his part to provide him a little room to breathe, but he couldn't do everything.  They pressed all around him, squeezing me to the edge, and ultimately I was pushed out completely.  Freddie looked up and around, finally realizing I'd vanished.  I shrugged, then turned to make my own way to the dance floor- I loved Andy Gibb's "I Just Want to Be Your Everything" which was the tune pulsating through the club at the moment- when someone grabbed my hand.

Wildly I turned to see Freddie.  He'd pushed his way through the amassing crowd to draw me back toward the bar, and now had his arm fastened around my waist.  

He grinned.  "Where were you going?"

"What?"

"WHERE WERE YOU GOING?"

"I was gonna go dance!"

"Can I come too?"

This he asked as three people almost simultaneously started tugging on his arm begging for a spin.  "You have your hands full!"

"Is that a no?"

"Sounded like one to me," Paul put in, patting his pockets as if in search for his keys.  

"Come on, darling, it's not the Mercurena, but it'll do."  He winked.

Paul protested, "I thought you wanted to do a little bl-"

"Afterwards, dear!  We just got here.  Watch our drinks, would you?" Freddie crooned, and kissed my cheek.  "Shall we?"

It was with these words I let him lead me out on the hazy floor.  I didn't know the first thing about disco dancing- real disco dancing, not the silly parody version everybody knows how to do- which became painfully obvious very soon.  Freddie was no John Travolta, but he was worlds better than me, and he showed me what to do.  At least I could blend in.

Eventually Gibb's peppy voice melted into a gentle ABBA tune.  Before I could say anything about getting off the dance floor, Freddie whispered, "One more."

"But what about Paul?"

"Paul's an ass."

We laughed, and I nodded, "Yes, he is, thank you."  We danced our second- and last (that I remember)- dance of the evening.

"I wanna know/ What's the name of the game?" Ms. Lyngstad was asking over the speakers as he put his arms around my waist and pressed his cheek against mine.  I slid one arm round his neck, the other slipped down his back.  I let my fingers play in the thick fringe of black hair hanging just over the edge of his collar.  I'd never touched him so intimately before.  And as small as the gesture seemed, it was electric.

I felt my body relax as we danced, as if I was melting into him.  I wasn't sure if it was imagination or not, but I swear that about a minute in, I felt him nibble at my ear lobe.  I closed my eyes, trying and failing to suppress the new rush of feelings surging in my chest.  

Freddie was right, nothing could ever compare to that embarrassing but, in retrospect, surreal moment in his flat.  But moving with him in that hot, smoky room, feeling his elastic body sway and brush up against mine while countless pairs of eyes (including Paul's) leered at me in envy- in that special two minutes of my life, there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be.  

_I wish I had kissed him back_ , I thought to myself.  _I wish I could tell him.  He's so awful- and wonderful, and divine, and why don't I kiss him now?_

As soon as I made up my mind to do just that, a brown hand clapped down on Freddie's shoulder and he turned around.  Peter Straker had some guy at his side that he absolutely _had_ to introduce to Freddie,this was Jack, he was a very best friend of his, played with him in that one episode of _Centre Play_ a year ago, he was absolutely in love with Freddie's charisma and stage presence, and before I knew it I lost my dancing partner.

Feeling like a used piece of chewing gum, I meandered off the dance floor.  I needed that coffee now.  Before I'd even reached the bar, my cynicism kicked back into action.  _Well, that was sweet of him,_ I said to myself.  _He danced with me now to get it over with, so he could at least say that he danced with me tonight.  Saving the fun stuff for last.  Smart man.  So considerate of the children.  
_

Paul watched me come back, and seeing I was without Freddie, began scanning the club for a sign of tousled dark hair.  
  


"He's with Straker," I said.  "Rudy's probably already-"

"Right," Paul muttered, and sticking his hand in his pocket, pushed away from the bar without even a thank-you.  I was alone now.  _Oh well.  It was nice while it lasted._

"Your coffee," the bartender muttered, sliding a shallow mug toward me.

Greedily I pulled it over and searched about for a sugar cradle- the ones with the pink, yellow, and blue packets all denoting which carcinogenic sweeteners they contained- but alas, I was in a club after all. No such luck. I craned my neck, looking for the bartender, but he too had disappeared.

That's when I noticed, where Paul had been reclining, a clear packet of a white crystalline substance. _Thanks, Charlie, or whatever your name is_. I opened it to stick my finger in and taste it. I wanted to make sure this wasn't aspartame or saccharin. I don't do artificial sweeteners. But I started getting such odd looks from the people beside me, I just decided to go with the flow and dump a portion of the packet in. One night of saccharin wouldn't hurt me.

I took a stirring straw and swirled the sugar in the cup until it dissolved, then I took a sip. I tasted no sugar, in fact found the coffee to be stronger and more bitter than I liked. I poured in some more, watching the crystals rain down into the mug, and stirred, a little less thoroughly. I took a bigger swig, but tasted no sweeter difference. I poured in about another teaspoon, and found the coffee even more chalky than before.

"What kind of sugar is this?" I said to myself. I opened the last one, tapped some of the stuff into my palm and peered closer. Looked pretty ordinary to me. But I had three other senses to choose from, and I picked the worst one.

I lifted the crystals to my nose and took a sniff.

"YOW!" I cried, jerking back. I almost spilled my coffee rubbing my nose, which was now on fire. _Remind me to never do that again!_

But as the seconds passed, my nose numbed, similar to what the tip of my tongue was doing. I blinked one, two, three, four times. Somehow, everything was clearer before my eyes. I felt much more awake, my energy making a welcome rebound. In my amazement, I brought the coffee back to my lips and swallowed.

_Hm. Not so bad now. I guess it's an acquired taste. I want to go dance again. I gotta move. Move, move, move._ I slurped some more of the coffee. It seemed as though everyone was moving a little faster than before. I smiled, watching them, ready to spring off the bar back into the crowd of dancing people to the tune of the "Lido Shuffle."

"Yo!" A raspy voice said beside me. "Okoy!"

"Well, well! If it isn't Rrrroger!" I rolled the r's in his name. I must say, he looked especially dashing that evening. "Come to say hello to little ol' me?"

"No one but you," Roger smiled, then cheekily planted a little kiss upon my forehead.

"Aw, you naughty tease, you're embarrassing me!" I laughed. "Wanna dance?"

"In a minute," he said. "First, let's see about that palm reading I've heard so much about."

"Got the money?" I whispered.

"I'll pay any price."

"I take bids."

"Two hundred."

"Too low. Try again."

"Two hundred and one."

"I'm yours," I joked, then laughed a hyper, crazed laugh that wasn't my own. As from a distance, I asked myself, Okay, what did I just put into my system?

As if I didn't know.

Roger and I found ourselves a little bar table (well actually, Roger just walked up to an occupied table and said, "Can I have this?" and the table was cleared seconds later). Just a couple places down from us, I noticed Freddie and his buddies drinking themselves into wild incoherence. Of course, I had no right to pass judgment on them as I was; with every sip of my crazy Joe, I came closer to La La Land.

(At this time, the cocaine hadn't fully taken effect. I hadn't yet finished my cane-strong coffee, and coke takes longer to kick when swallowed. But it was coming soon.)

Setting his own shot of gin down, he put his elbow on the table and turned his palm up.

"You have very calm hands for a drummer," I remarked, ignoring how my own were starting to shake.

"You have no idea," Roger whispered with a slow smile. "Do you need to meditate or anything before you start?"

"Nope, I'll just get right to it, if you don't mind," I said, taking his hand in mine and peering into the lines I found there. "I see you're a tough man, unafraid of hard work. You have a habit of doing things over and over again until you get it right, no matter how it hurts."

"How'd you do that?" Roger asked.

I pointed at a rough little white spot on his thumb. "Callouses, dear."

We laughed, and I realized I was enjoying myself with the blondie. Freddie wasn't the only guy here who could have a little fun.  True, I was high and I could only go higher, but I wasn't hanging around waiting on Freddie to give me a second glance. Girls of all shapes and sizes were congregating around him, leaning over his shoulder, hanging over the back of his chair. _This is so cool,_ I thought to myself. _I've never had the undivided attention of two people in such high demand like this before. But I wanna go dance. I'm tired of sitting here, and I don't like the way they're all staring at us. I'll make it quick._

"So what's the future look like?" Roger coaxed.

"Ahh! Yes! Let me see... Ooo, I see..." I actually had to think about this one. I knew less outside information about Roger than anyone else in the band, so I kept it generic.

"I see in this line here," I droned, tracing his thumb, "a grand slam hit, penned by you..."

"Really?" Roger's eyes lit up. "When?"

"It will be your first hit song... and all shall salute it..."

"When will I write it? Is it now? What?"

"The masses shall go... ga ga..."

"When?!"

I looked up. "I'm a palm reader. I'm not specific unless the spirits decide to be, too." My eyes drifted to Freddie's table for a split second, to see Freddie was killing himself trying get a good look at what was happening over by us.  His brows were knit together- but with what emotion was impossible to tell in the dim atmosphere.

"So you don't know?" he huffed. 

"Soon!  It will happen.  Be patient, and keep doing what you're good at."

"Playing the drums and singing and writing songs?"

"Playing the drums- and uh, yeah, all that other stuff too," I added quickly before I hurt his pride.

"Oh, Roger, let me do it next!" the girls started to say. "Me next!" "No, me!" "I saw him first!"

"Almost done, my dears," I said, draining the dregs of my Coca Joe-la. I figured the stuff had done enough damage already, I might as well just go all the way. (Not smart, kids, this was me being stupid, do NOT try this at home.)

"Yow! Okay. Now, in the crook of this pinky finger here, I see..."

Roger leaned in, eyes as wide as a curious little boy's.  _I think he actually buys it, somewhat.  Let's freak him out, shall we?_

"I see a baby."

The round blue eyes squinted, confused.  "A baby?"

"Yes, indeed!  A lovely little boy and- oh, what's this?"  I took a look at his ring finger.  I squinted hard, pretending to see something too faint to make out, then I gasped with joy.  "Another baby!  Let's see, any more you got hiding in there?"

I went through the same process until I had made it clear that Roger would father a child for every finger on his hand.  And Roger tried to smile.

"Oh, my goodness, Roger, you lucky thing!  A family man!  Aren't you happy?"

"You're not a real psychic, are you?" he said at last.

"Of course not!"

And Roger, young runaround Roger, breathed a sigh of relief.  "Whew!  I didn't think you were, just- I want to be sure, you know?"

"Me, a real psychic.  Yeah.  Please.  I can't even time stoplights right.  But I will say this: don't be surprised if it actually turns out you have five known offspring."

Roger just laughed- but I couldn't help detecting the tiniest note of nervousness there, so I said, trying to be consoling, "Oh, don't worry, Rog.  John's ahead of you, he'll have six."

"Six f---ing kids!"

"Yup.  Six effing kids.  But he'll love 'em.  And you will love yours too."

Roger sat back.  "How big will Brian's family be?"

I didn't know off the top of my head.  "Uh... big enough?"

Roger scratched the side of his nose.  "I thought so."

I said in a witchy, horror movie voice, "The spirits don't tell me everything, only what I need to know.  And I know that one day you will have a family.  Who knows when, but it will happen.  NOW!"  I clapped my hands and shouted, "Anybody else before I close up shop?  My rates are low, my ability unparalleled, and-"

I cut myself off when a large, smooth hand thrust itself under my nose.  I didn't need to ask who it belonged to.  Roger rolled his eyes, grinning his little grin, and coughed.

"Am I too late, Gypsy Rose Lee?" Freddie asked.  Paul gripped his forearm as if he wanted desperately to yank Freddie back to the guys, which I found extremely creepy.

I drummed my fingers against the table.  "For what?"  Someone who looked like they worked there passed the table, and I called, "Hey, may I please have some more coffee?  Thank you."

"Will the spirits reveal my future to you?" he said, smiling.

I sang, just as I had to Roger, "For a price." 

Freddie leaned in toward me, so close I could smell everything he'd been drinking.  "Darling, you live with me."

"An excellent point!  Have a seat," I shouted, pointing at the stool at my left.  The waiter came around, poured me a fresh (and clean, thank God) cup of coffee as Freddie sat down, and he laid his hand in mine which I turned over. 

I stared into the palm of his hand.  I've always thought he had beautiful hands, especially when they would fly over the piano keys, making that mystical music with that touch only he could claim.  They were expressive hands, creative, and strong.  In my synthetic clarity, I stroked his fingers with precision, noted how slender they were, how delicate.  I was silent.  Out the corner of my eye I saw Paul's hand hover a moment over my coffee, but I paid no attention.  I liked Freddie's hands better than anything Pudding Face decided to do.

"Go on!" Roger said.  "Tell him how many kids he's gonna have!"

Freddie laughed.  "I had my heart set on twelve."

I giggled, looking up at him.  "I almost think one of yours would be too many."

"Stop stalling, dear!" he chided me.  "My future is in my hand!  What am I paying you for anyway?"

With a grin, my gaze dropped down into his palm.

And I screamed.

I don't know the exact reason why I screamed.  I think was a bunch of things together.  The sneaky cocaine, yes, was making me increasingly paranoid and at last was really starting to set in.  And one of the blue lights over our table suddenly flashed and burned out, leaving us in a hellish red miasma.  But more importantly, it was the remembrance of Freddie's real future, his not-so-distant future, of which I was reminded as soon as I looked again at his hand.

It was the hand of a skeleton. 

Of course it wasn't really a skin-less hand I was looking at, but the lights hit it just so, and my eyes were tricking so, that I saw white, skinny bone, smooth ivory where there should have been soft flesh.  I glanced up into Freddie's gaping, frightened face, but in the glaring red light his features were lost and I came face to face with a hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed zombie.

It was too much.  I screamed again and jumped down from the table.  Freddie tried catching me but this time I was too fast.  Tears blinding me, I raced toward the restroom.  Men's or Women's, I had no idea.  It was private, and I needed it.

The door swung closed behind me. I didn't even close the stall as I placed my hands on both sides of the toilet bowl seat.  With a violent shudder, I retched.  Quiet tears slid down my nose.  I wasn't thinking straight anymore, I wasn't reacting rationally.  How could I?  Let's even forget all the cocaine swimming around in my blood at the moment.  All I could picture was his bony hand, every phalange and metacarpal etched out in perfect detail.  What a brutal reminder.  And that emaciated face.  Oh, God. 

_He's going to die,_ I said to myself deliriously.  _He's going to die.  Oh, dear God, no.  Please._

I had to tell him somehow.  There was no other way, or else I would be giving him the go-ahead to jump off into death itself.  I just needed to find the right entree.  Was there even one?  _Sweet Lord, why me?  Of all the lightning rods you could have picked, why me?_

The bathroom door creaked, and someone quietly walked toward my stall.  I lifted my head, my flushed cheeks turning even redder as the stall door pushed open.

"I'm sorry, Freddie, I didn't mean to do that," I managed.  "Just freaked, I guess."

The raspy voice replied, "It's Roger.  Freddie's still out there."

For some reason, that made it easier.  I turned and stood on wobbly legs.  My jumpsuit was still in good shape, or as good as it ever was anyway.  Roger slid a hand against my back, and started rubbing it.

"You do realize you're in the Men's room, right?" he said.

"Am I going to be arrested?" I croaked.

"No, no, I just thought you might like to know, in case a guy walks in on us or something," Roger said.  "You okay?"

"Yes.  Yes, I'm all right.  How's Freddie?"

"He's a bit shaken, for sure."  Roger handed me my coffee.  How nice of him to bring it along.  "Drink some of this.  You want some water?"

I took a long, greedy sip.  The coffee was still bitter, and now had a strange, sludgy texture as it slid down my throat.  Maybe this place just had really disgusting coffee.  "Water, please."

So he stuck an empty glass (his own, I'll bet) under the tap, handed it to me.  The water honestly wasn't that much better, but I still drank it.  He perched himself on the counter, and since it looked comfortably casual, I did the same.

"What do you mean, shaken?" I asked.

"He's just, oh, I don't know.  Just a little freaked out from that display."

"It had nothing to do with him," I lied.

"He thinks it does."

"He's wrong."

"You'd have to tell him that.  He's pretty upset."

_That's why Freddie's not the one sitting here rubbing my back and making me feel better,_ I thought to myself.  _I've got him in another mood.  Wonderful._

"Did you see something?" Roger asked.  "That made you scream, I mean."

I shook my head.  "No, I just had a moment."

He asked, "Can you really see things, Eve?  Like in the future?"

I looked him over suspiciously, unsure of where he was going.  I sniffed, and said in all honesty, "I can, up to a point."

"What's that like?"

"It's hell."

"I guess it would be," Roger chuckled softly.  "My God.  Such theories."

I squinted, my fears gradually subsiding.  That was Roger's method: distracting people out of their woes.  "About what?"

"You!  We've all got one.  How you got here, who you are, et cetera."

"Really? What's yours?"

"I think you're a fan who won't admit she's a fan.  Brian's kind of in the same mindset as I am."

_Imagine that_ , I snarked to myself.

"Freddie and John have weirder theories," he smiled. "Freddie especially.  I love him to death, but sometimes, sometimes he's just a little too wacked."

I nodded, unwilling to ask any more questions.  My fingers kept jittering, and I was ready to go back out and apologize to Freddie, maybe steal a few more dances, minus the cane.

"You okay?" Roger said again, trying I suppose to be sympathetic.  He was leaning in closer than before.

"Getting there," I said.  I became keenly aware of how Roger was now rubbing my back.  "You don't have to stay in here, Rog.  I'll be out in a minute."

"I want to make sure everything is settled in your head," he explained. 

"It is."

He kissed my forehead, and I was distinctly underwhelmed.  I thought he would stop there, it being simply a friendly gesture, but he didn't.  Roger's hand drifted up to my neck, entwining his fingers in my hair.  He began nuzzling the side of my face, kissing my cheek at random intervals.

"Roger," I said quietly, "what are you doing?"

Very soft, then, he whispered, "I want you."

"You do?" I said, watching as his other arm slipped tightly around my middle.  "I'm very flattered."

"I know you want me, too," he breathed heavily against my neck. 

"That's news to me," I started to whisper when all of a sudden my lips were stopped by his.  Roger put his mouth on mine- and that's really the only way to describe it because it didn't feel anything like a kiss- no pucker action, no lips at all, just mouth.

"What are you trying to do?" I asked him almost calmly. 

"I am going to make love to you right here."

"In the bathroom?"

He groaned, which I took for a yes.

"Why?"

Zonked away, Roger Taylor trying to seduce me in a dirty little nightclub lavatory, and still talking like a scientist. Oh, me.

His hand started drifting upward.  "Stop talking, love, just let it happen."

When he started fondling my bosom I decided to cut the act short.  I hopped off the counter and looked as coolly as I could at Roger.  I wasn't even heaving. 

He came at me again, though, wrapping his arms around me and pinning me against the wall.  "Stop playing games, you beautiful thing."  He buried his face in my neck, nipping and kissing wherever his lips fell. 

But I smiled.  For a stroke of genius had just hit me- and if Roger had any sense of decency, I'd just concocted the easiest out in the world.  At least, it seemed like genius then.  For it wasn't long before I regretted ever thinking the notion up.

"Roger," I whispered in a lusty voice, "what would Dom say?"

The drummer paused, faced me.  "Huh?"

"You know, Dominique?  Your girlfriend? What would she think if she saw you like this?"

"She'd understand."

"Would she?" I said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, she has her share of boys anyway whenever she's away.  But I don't wanna talk about her, how'd you know her name?"

I didn't answer.  "Just checking.  She may not care.  And that's fine."

Roger smiled and bent for my lips, this time with a little pucker at the corners of his mouth.

And I said it: "Of course, I know my husband wouldn't feel that way..."

The blue eyes snapped open.  "Husband?"

"Oh, yes.  My husband, Mark.  He's the jealous type, and if he found me standing like this, with you, he'd be liable to smash your face in."

"You're married?" Roger said disbelievingly.  "So where's your ring?"

"We got married in a whirlwind in Vegas," I lied through my teeth.  "Nearly forgot the rings, and the one I picked wound up being too big anyway.  I don't wear it.  But everyone back home knows I'm married.  They saw me coming with my six-foot-eight husband, and they'd say-"

"Six foot eight?" he repeated.

"Six foot eight, two fifty on the scale.  And a nasty, nasty habit of his, he would always tend to show up right when the other men were getting frisky, so he's broken a few jaws in his time.  And always in the weirdest places, at the weirdest times, he could walk in even now-"

"You're married," Roger said, then snorted.  "I don't believe you.  Does Freddie know?"

"Why wouldn't I tell him?"  I shook him off me and stumbled to the door.  "Thank you for the kind words though, Rog.  I'm very grateful for you."

"Er, don't mention it," he mumbled., blinking as if trying to figure out what just happened.

I skipped out into the dim smokiness of the club, my hands shaking, my eyes darting.  I looked down at the smoke rising menacingly above and around.  I wasn't giving one thought to the past few minutes with Roger, not even when he rushed past me toward the bar tables. Freddie's back was to me, but I wasn't surprised. He'll get over it, I told myself, just like John said.

I was losing my clarity, my heart pumping hard. I had to dance, I had too much energy inside begging to be cut loose. So many sensations swirled in my body, and none of them felt good. Still, my feet carried me to the dance floor, the bright colors now throbbing to the tune of "Sky High."

_Perfect_ , I said to myself. _That's exactly what I am right now._

Behold, the last coherent thought I had that night.

The smoke turned a dark mauve color, the same that I saw in my nightmares. A shaggy-haired fellow grinned and waved his hand at me. He had small eyes. I always looked at the eyes. They're the windows to the s...

After that, for the rest of the night, I draw a blank.

 

 


	30. Birdman's Eye View: Panic at the Disco

As the heavy door closes behind us, I notice Veronica is still smiling to herself.  

"I simply let you say the password, and your whole night is made," I say.  "To think, for the last three and a half years, I've been doing it the hard way."

"Hush, you cheeky bastard," she giggles, putting her arm in mine.  

I have never been to the Heatwave before.  God knows, I've heard enough about it from more well-traveled clubbers like Freddie and Roger, but it's a place no one ever talks about in public.  There's an edge of secrecy, and if the rumors are to be believed, as far as drugs and all sorts of other taboo things are concerned, it's well-deserved.  The Heatwave is one of those places where the stars go to _indulge_.  But Freddie's invited me, and I can't just hobnob about and leave my sport of a wife at home.  

I suppose we'll only stay for a couple of drinks, say hello to Freddie, then head back home.  True, it's ten past eleven, and Robert's fast asleep with a sitter keeping watch, but Veronica doesn't like leaving him alone for too long.  What strait-laced, upright parents we are becoming.  Though I dare say I haven't changed all that much.  I guess I was born to be the responsible one of the group.  

Well, the _more_ responsible one, anyway.

The actual entrance is not so closely guarded, and we walk right in.  I'm a little unimpressed at first, it's just like any other club around London these days.  Veronica coughs, the smoke of the dry ice tickling her throat.  We order our cocktails, and with a little toast to my lady, I down it the moment it arrives.

"You said the boys would be here?" Veronica asks, raising her voice to be heard over the throbbing music.

"Can't say for certain if they'll all show.  Probably not.  I know Freddie's somewhere around here, and I'll wager he brought that funny little sprite of his."

"Sprite?"

"The girl who was in his closet."

She frowns.  "Whose closet?  Freddie's?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Don't think so.  If you did, I don't remember."

"Remember that little thing Robert swallowed-"

"OH!  Yes!  So she's the one?  That thing's hers?"

"The Relic?  Yes, it's hers."

"What's it for?"

"Dunno.  I just hope it can do whatever it's supposed to once I put it back together."

Robert has since returned the golden thing he had swallowed, if you catch my drift.  I'm letting it dry out fully before I reassemble the device.  Will it work?  Well, I'll be honest.  My hopes aren't too high, but I still can't afford not to try.

"Where are they, anyway?" I ask aloud, squinting through the fog, searching for Eve, Freddie, or both.  I expect Eve to be somewhere round the edge, hugging the wall, but I can't see her.  A few more minutes of searching and I catch sight of a crowded bar table.  When the man I recognize to be Freddie's friend Peter Straker moves aside, I see Freddie standing under a dark red light, hunched over his glass.  Someone must have told an incredibly funny story, because quite suddenly he throws his head back and laughs hysterically, looks back behind him, then laughs even harder.

Veronica spots him as well.  "There he is!  Where's his girl?"

I shrug, then the two of us worm our way through the crowd to get to Freddie.  The closer we come, the more messed up I realize he is.  He can't keep still, and he's clearly ready for a little fun from the way he keeps putting his hands all over his friends standing there, planting kisses on any and every cheek.  I've seen him in the mood before, and acting on it, but this time- I don't know, it just looks like he's trying too hard.

"Hey, Fred!" I clap him on the back.

He whirls, and with a loud shout says, "Daaaar-liiiing!  So good to see you!  And you've brought the missus!  Hello, hello!"  

Freddie throws his arms around me, then draws back.  He reeks of vodka.  And even in the crimson lighting, I can see faint white crust under his nose.  I don't even want to know how much he's had.

"Where's the girl?" I ask.

"She's... she's with Roger," Freddie slurs, waving his hand at something behind him which puts him slightly off balance.  His driver/bodyguard seizes his shoulder before he can slide to the floor.  He is so drunk.

"So Roger's here, too?" I say.  "Where?"

"He's with Eve, I jus' told you," he answers irritably.  "Don't you ever f---ing listen?"

Before this can escalate, as it most likely is about to, his new friend Paul intercedes, saying, "He's asking where the two of them are, if they're in the same place."

Freddie grunts, and pointing behind him again.  "In there."

I peer over his shoulder and see he's referring to the Men's WC.  "But that's the Men's room.  What are they both doing in-"

"They're making g--d--- sure I owe him a hundred f---ing pounds," Freddie snarls.  "You got any more questions?"

My jaw drops.  "You mean, they're-"

"Since nine-thirty.  They went in and di'n't come out.  Don't go see, we don't wanna disturb them.  Sex is a very private thing, and Eve deserves her f---ing privacy."  He punctuates this by slamming whatever is left in his glass, and raising his hand for another.  "Care for a line or two?"

But I just cannot believe this of Miss Houdini.  I'm no Casanova, but I watched her this afternoon with Roger at lunch.  If you ask me, she barely tolerated him; she'd been civil, even friendly, yet there had been no spark, no mutual connection, like I saw between her and Freddie.  

So I venture, "Are you sure she didn't come out of there?  Did you go see for y-" 

Freddie shouts, "Stop f---ing talking about it!  Who gives a f--- what she does?  We're grown-ups, aren't we?  The bitch can do what she likes.  I 'll do what I want 'cause I don't care.  So what if she likes Rog better?  The f--- do I care?  They can do what they want."

"Who can?" In a finger's snap, Roger appears at the table.  And Freddie's bloodshot eyes nearly pop out of his face.  But in typical Freddie fashion, he masks the surprise, even as wasted as he is.  

He lowers his lids to look blase, and he says quite smoothly, in all truth, "So, how was Eve?"

"Oh, she was fan-tastic," Roger says, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger in an "okay" gesture.  But the look on his face doesn't match.

"Never would have picked her for a tart," Freddie mumbles.  "I was wrong.  Even nuns take off their clothes every now and then."  He crooks his finger at Rudy.  "I owe you a hundred, don't I?"

"What?  No, you don't."

"Yes, you won fair and square."

"What are they talking about?" Veronica whispers to me.

It's rather embarrassing to tell her, because it sounds so bad, but I bite the bullet.  "Freddie and Roger made a bet."

"On Eve?"

I nod, then hold a finger to my lips.  She shakes her head, disgusted.  

"Well, if you really just want to give me the money, you can," Roger shrugs.  "But for God's sake, Fred.  You could have at least told me she was married."

"Yeah, okay, Rudy, give him the-" Freddie cuts himself off.  He closes his open hand, turns back to face our drummer.  "What did you say?"

"I didn't do anything to her, Freddie."

Freddie blinks, and his mouth twitches with excitement.  I notice now he's standing a little straighter, a little steadier.  "But- uh, but you two were in there for hours!"

"Are you taking the piss?  We weren't in there five minutes!"

"I must not have seen..." Freddie trails off.  He clasps his hands, eyes widening.  He opens his mouth, but no words come out.  All he does is laugh, but this time, it's like he means it.

"I'm glad you think it's funny," Roger scowls.  "Did you know she's married?"

"Oh, I was so worr- huh?" Freddie stops.  "Did you say, married?"

"She said she told you she's married.  Did she?"

One split second is all it takes for Freddie to recover.  But I see it; and there's no doubt that this is the first Freddie's heard of Eve being somebody's wife.

"Of course, she told me," Freddie said offhandedly.  "What a bore.  I thought everybody knew.  That's what I meant when I said she wasn't your type. She told me Day One."

"Really?" Roger crosses his arms.  "So what's her husband look like?"

"Well, you know, she doesn't really talk about him, but she has said he's a tough fellow."

"Eve doesn't talk about her own husband?"

Freddie rolls his eyes.  "She's a different sort of person, remember?  I know little things about him, basic stuff-"

"What's his name?" Roger demands, a "gotcha" smile in the works.

Everyone looks at Freddie, ready for the next aloof reply, but Freddie is flummoxed this time.  "Um... oh, f---.  I mean, she did tell me.  I'm just awful with names, and  what's more I'm pissed out of my mind, so, uh... Steve?"

I cringe.  Eve and Steve.  That wasn't even clever!

Roger smirks.  "I thought as much.  The bet still stands.  And we're still in the running."

"Look, Rog," Freddie suddenly exclaims, "why don't you just leave her alone?  If she says she's married, why can't we just leave it at that?"

"Because she isn't married.  It's obvious," Roger says simply, staring out at the dance floor.  "No ring, and married women wear their rings even if they don't fit."

Veronica looks at her hand.  "That's true, we do."

Freddie is grasping at straws.  "Can't we just call it off?"

"You afraid you'll lose?" But it's Paul who chimes in with this, not Roger.  A sly smile crosses his unfriendly face, and Freddie's pride is again dragged onto center stage.

"Not at all," Freddie simpers.  "But supposing she is married?"

"No way.  It would take the marriage license itself to convince me of that," Roger states.  His brows pop up as he watches whatever is happening out under the mirrorball.

"I'll make her show it to me, and I'll show it to you," Freddie replies.  "And then won't you feel like an asshole."

"No, I think I'll win this one," Roger says absently.  "She's not married."

"You don't know."

"True, but if she is, she certainly doesn't dance like it."

Freddie frowns.  All of us who are interested (meaning us Deacons, Freddie, and Rudy) follow Roger's gaze.  There she is at the very center, in a white jumpsuit, bouncing up and down like mad with her arms in the air, and a smile so big and so frightening we can see it from all the way back here in the dark.  There's one fellow in particular who has her attention, and she's flirting, and flirting hard.

I can scarcely believe this wild, unchained maniac is the same polite, smiling girl what visited Wessex this morning.  I turn to Freddie to ask what happened when I see he's left the table.  I just barely catch him disappear into the moving throng.  Rudy moves to go in after him but I volunteer my services.  Somehow I feel I'm a party to this.  I ask Veronica to excuse me a moment, and I follow.

Freddie's not amused.  Far from it.  He looks ready to bend this little minx over his knee and give her a few good wallops.  It's a sea of people we're pushing through, and for a moment we lose sight of her, till we hear a high-pitched, rasping scream: 

"'RASPBERRY BERET'!  WE WANNA HEAR 'RASPBERRY BERET'!" 

"Oh, God," Freddie murmurs.  We follow the sound of her voice as she keeps yelling about wanting music from somebody called Prince until at last we're within grabbing reach.  She's laughing, her back is turned towards us, and a man that all of Queen admires greatly is necking her.

Freddie's boiling angry- and I don't know why.  But Freddie's Freddie, and there doesn't always have to be a why.  He grabs her arm and violently yanks her away from Rod Stewart.

"Hey, man, what's the big idea?  I saw her first!" he protests.

Freddie ignores Rod, and instead starts accosting Eve.  "What the f--- do you think you're doing?"

"I'm having a good time, thas' what I'm doing," she yells back. "You got a problem with that?"

"What are you dancing like that for?"

"Well!  Since when did you become such a mean ol' fuddy-duddy, Freddie?" The way the last three words fumble out of her klutzy mouth sends her into a fit of giggling.  "Fuddy-deddie-fruddy-Freddie-duddy-feddie..."

I notice her eyes are practically spinning in her head, and her breathing is much faster than normal.  "Are you feeling well, Eve?"

"We're fine, we're fine," she slurs.  I lay my hand against her forehead.  She's burning up.  I tell Freddie this, and that's enough for him.  

He takes her hand.  "Come on, we're getting you out of here."

"I'm staying," she informs him unsteadily.  "Can't stop, can't stop."

Now people are trying to insinuate themselves between Freddie and Eve, and not just to dance with Freddie.  Rod pulls Eve back over to him, saying to my friend, "Take your square ass elsewhere, honey."

And Eve puts her arms around her dance partner.  "Hey, Rod," she giggles in her loud, throaty voice, "do you think I'm sexy?"

"Let me tell you all about it," he growls, and her smile only grows wider.

Freddie shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath.  He's still drunk, but now he's focused, because now it's necessary.  

"John, I'm about to be the adult here," he whispers to me.  "Don't hold it against me, hm?"

"Go for it, be the bad guy," I urge.  "It's past time you took your turn anyhow."

"That's _Mister_ Bad Guy to you," he hisses back, with a hint of humor.  But the humor vanishes in the very next instant as all of a sudden he reaches down and grabs Eve round the legs.  She lets out a startled little scream, and suddenly she's jackknifed over his shoulder.  But she's not going down without a fight.  

"Put me down, you fancy bastard!" she cries, kicking and beating at his back.  "Oh!  You dog!"

Rod chimes in, "Put her down!" and starts pulling her hands in an attempt to get her out of his grasp. Freddie whirls and shoves him into a spectator (and by now, everybody is watching).

Rod doesn't let this go unchallenged.  He draws back his fist and throws a wild punch, striking Freddie in the lip.  Horrified, Eve slaps Rod.  Rod shoves me.  I shove somebody I thought was Rod and they slap me.  Somebody hits Rod and knocks into Freddie, and the place descends into utter chaos and everyone's on their way to fighting everyone else.

When there's an opportunity, Freddie puts Eve back on the floor and simply says, "We're going."

She's much more unsteady than earlier, but she obeys, and somehow the three of us manage to get off the dance floor without much more than a bruise or two (with the exception of Freddie; Rod hit him rather hard, and now his bottom lip has begun to bleed).  

Roger's jaw drops.  "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Freddie dabs at his lip, squints at the red spot it leaves on his fingers.  "And thank you so much for all your help back there, Roger.  I mean really.  Rudy, could you go get the car?"

"We don't have to leave yet, Freddie," Eve gasps.  "I'm all right, I swear, I-" 

Suddenly she bends almost completely in half and runs for the ladies' loo.  Freddie follows close behind in case she shouldn't make it there.  They disappear into the WC.  Without realizing it, I walk right behind them.  When the door closes, I follow them anyway.  But as I open the door, and walk over to the stall where they are, I hear Eve gag and hurl up whatever nasty stuff she'd accidentally gotten into.  Poor thing.  Immediately I back away.  I'm not supposed to be in here anyway.

She gags again, and retches a dry heave.  And then, there's Freddie's voice, calm and soothing, saying, "It's okay, it's okay.  You're all right.  Just take a deep breath.  Good girl.  Take it easy."

I marvel to myself as I step out.  Freddie isn't in much better shape than Eve, and he's still trying to take care of her.  I smile to myself.  In its own funny way, that's very sweet.

Veronica taps my shoulder.  "Are you all right, John?"

"I'm fine," I say.  I point at the closed ladies' restroom door.  "It's them I'm worried about."

"Do you want to see them home?" Veronica asks.

"Love, they'll be fine.  I know it."

"Why don't you let me take the car home, and you can ride back to Freddie's with them and make sure of it."

"Ron, you don't have to do-"

"It's going to grate on you all night if you don't," she tells me.  "I know you.  And besides, I owe you a little favor, after what I let Robert get into yesterday."

I sigh.  "Are you sure it's all right?"

She kisses me gently.  "I'll see you later.  I'll wait up for you, so don't stay too long."  It's with that and a shared "I love you" that my wife vanishes out the door, leaving me and Freddie's friends here in the Heatwave.  Should be an interesting drive back. 

**************************************************************************************

It's just four riding back in the Rolls tonight.  Rudy, Freddie, Eve, and myself.  I'm in the front seat, rubbernecking all the way as I keep my eyes constantly fixed on the two wasted people in the back.  Peter wanted to stay at the club, and Paul was too miffed at Freddie to come back.  Roger?  I don't know his excuse.  Surely he had a good one.

Rudy doesn't say anything, and I'm practically a mute anyway.  The radio is off.  So everything those two behind me murmur is perfectly audible from where I am.  But there's very little spoken, Eve can barely sit up straight, let alone carry on a conversation, right now.  She is even laying across the back seat, her head in Freddie's lap, eyes closed, hands holding her stomach.  He is gently stroking her hair.

"She's still feverish," Freddie says at one point. 

"That's something she'll have to sleep off," Rudy says.  "We're almost there."

Eve's eyes open a crack. "Is 'No No's' Day over yet?"

"Almost, darling," Freddie purrs.  "Go back to sleep."

"Hooray." Her eyes close, and she doesn't say anything else until we get to Freddie's home.  

"Married," Freddie says to himself with a smile. "How odd.  I didn't even know angels got married."

She's out like a light by the time we pull up to the door.  Instead of waking her, Freddie leans over, lifts her up out of the seat, and carries her inside.  

"Is there anything I can do, Fred?" I ask.  I bring her a glass of water -the poor girl's clearly dehydrated- and try to get some of the liquid down her parched throat.  The bleeding on Freddie's lip has stopped, but the bruising has only begun.  It's a tender spot, and will stay tender for another few days.

Freddie walks up the stairs, still cradling Eve in his arms, his movements still a bit unstable.  I walk behind him to sort of spot for him.  The last thing I know he wants to do is send Eve down for a tumble.

"You can help me get her out of this thing," Freddie answers at last.  After he places her carefully on the bed, he roots around her drawers for a nightgown or pajamas.  I take hold of the zipper when he says, "No, wait.  I'll get her out of the jumpsuit.  You find her something to wear."

So we switch places.  I grab the first thing I see- a pink satin teddy- and we start, very delicately, very clinically, taking off Eve's clothes.

We've slipped her arms out of the tank part when she awakens and chuckles, "You naughty boys, hit me when I'm down..." but she offers no resistance.  Instead, she cooperates, lifting her leg when I ask, and sitting up as best she can when Freddie coaxes her to.  

It's actually a moment or two before we get to dressing her again.  Freddie stands there, gazing at Eve, so vulnerable in nothing but her bra and her knickers.  It's not a lustful look he's giving her.  There's desire, obviously, but I know for a fact he's not going to pounce the way he might with, say, someone else.  It's a wistful desire.

"Look at her, John," he whispers.  "She's just a baby."

I know exactly what he means.  Not to say she isn't well-developed, because she is.  Very much so.  It's her face.  She looks so young, like a child.  I wonder just how young this fragile little pixie of his happens to be. Certainly no older than twenty-one.  

Freddie sighs.  "Okay, darling, sit up again, one more time."

With a groan, Eve does her best.  I hold her arms up over her head while Freddie pulls the short little gown over them.

She watches him as he does this, her eyes sleepily studying him while he straightens the skirt over her thighs.  "Your eyes are so pretty," she murmurs.

Freddie pauses, looking up at her.  "Uh," he says, clearly unprepared for that.  "Thank you."

Eve blinks slowly.  "You have such a beautiful face."

He smiles, getting in the swing of her words.  "So do you."

"Why are you so sweet?"  She reaches out a hand and puts it against his cheek.  "Why are you so kind to me?"

Freddie doesn't answer her.  He just sits there beside her a moment with this soft look on his face.  After a moment he, too, lifts his hand to touch her lips.  She closes her eyes with a small smile.  It's a lovely moment between them, and I'm just standing here awkwardly staring as it happens.  I wonder if I should leave the room, but my feet remain stationary.

"I think," Freddie slowly whispers, "you need to get some sleep."

Eve's smile broadens a little.  "Ol' fuddy-duddy," she whispers, but lays down and draws back her legs so that he can pull the covers over them.  

"Good night, John," she calls to me.  "Thank you."

"Good night," I answer.

Freddie sits down on her bedside, then leans toward her and kisses both her cheeks.  "You're an awful lot of trouble," he scolds her quietly.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He leans in one more time and touches her forehead with his lips, staying there a few seconds before pulling away.  

"I'm not," he says.  "Good night, my stray kitten."

"Good night, Freddie."

He gets up and turns out the light.  The two of us walk back downstairs, and Freddie offers me a drink before I go.

"No, I'm all right.  I need to be heading back," I say.

"Rudy will take you.  Thanks for everything, John.  Couldn't have done it without you." 

I worry he's going to bring up the Relic, but instead Freddie keeps gazing up toward her bedroom.  He has other things on his mind.  Suddenly he looks down and shakes his head.  

"What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing.  Here, I'll walk you out."

So we stroll back out into the warm night.  The Rolls awaits to whisk me home.  I'm quite tired myself.  So much has happened today I can barely remember everything.

"You know what's sad?" Freddie says suddenly as I climb into the car.

"No," I reply.  "What?"

He chuckles, but it's a mirthless chuckle.  "I'd bet my life that tomorrow she'll wake up, and won't remember anything tonight."

I say nothing, just look at him, as is my habit with everything, practically.

Freddie shrugs.  "Oh well.  I won't keep you any longer.  Good night.  Give Veronica a kiss for me."

 

 


	31. Pillow Talk

I don't think I was entirely honest when I said I couldn't remember any of that night.  I do recall an intense dizziness, and feeling like someone was slowly turning the dial higher and higher on my internal thermostat.  And somewhere in the swirling fog I remember something light falling away from me, like clothes.  But the other ninety-nine percent either gave itself over to my unconscious mind, buried in its deepest cavern and never to be unearthed until a time when it was least helpful, or evaporated altogether. 

What I did recall, clear as crystal, was the nightmare.  Shortly after I slipped out of sentience, seconds afterward it seemed, the dry ice smoke began billowing forth from all directions, this time a darker magenta, rising and thickening until Freddie magically appeared before me and led me through the fog once more.  But we hadn't traveled more than twenty feet when the earth began to quake violently.  A deafening roar as the ground beneath us split open.  The jolt threw me off my feet, projecting us forward.  Luckily for me, I had enough land before me to keep me from falling into the rift.

But Freddie didn't. 

He hit the ground and rolled toward the cliff.  Desperately he scratched at the dry earth trying to get a grip on anything.  I shouted and reached out for him, but still he tumbled till he went right over the edge- and then the nightmare ceased.  Just quit right there, as though someone took White Out and smeared it all over my mind's eye.  From then on, I was absolutely senseless.

But I didn't want to think about last night.  Last night could go hang itself, as could this next morning.  All I wanted to do was lay in bed and vegetate.  I hadn't the energy even to think.  Oscar lay at the foot of the bed -at least, I assumed it was Oscar since only he liked sleeping with me.  I was face down into the pillow and I didn't feel like making sure.  My eyelids hung heavier than lead weights; I had no desire to force them open.  It was like coming out of general anesthesia, times two.

My ears were first to kick back in working order.  Gradually I started hearing Freddie's voice coming from his bedroom.  He spoke softly, as if to someone right next to him.  _Ah,_ I thought dimly.  _Guess he got lucky last night.  Well, good for him._

As he talked, however, the conversation sounded distinctly one-sided. After a moment, I realized he was on the phone. 

"...Course not, Rod.  No hard feelings," I heard him say, then laugh.  "Yeah, we were both pretty out of our heads."

_Who's Rod?_ I asked myself.  _Maybe Stewart?  Was he there last night?  Maybe?  Oh, wow.  Wonder what happened_.  Summoning up all my strength, I tried to roll over, but the nauseating soreness in my limbs put the kibosh on that right away. 

Freddie hung up, then padded into my bedroom.  I didn't know what to do, so I pretended to still be asleep.  When all else fails, plausible deniability.

Which was much harder to maintain when he yawned, pulled back the sheets a little, and slipped in next to me.  My insides started working themselves into knots.  _Freddie, what are you doing?_

That was bad enough.  But the knots only tightened when he snuggled right up against me and his warm, bare legs wrapped around mine.  He put one hand on my waist and with the other brushed my hair away from his face.

_We're spooning_ , I noted.  Then in the very next moment I asked myself, _Why?_

I was surprised at myself, reacting so coolly.  After all, it wasn't every day a man slid into bed and spooned with me.With a pit in my stomach, I wondered if we'd been like this all night.I stiffened with speculation.

"Good morning, Eve," he whispered. 

"Hmm?" I mumbled.  "What?"

"You're awake."

"I am, now."

"And you were, before."

I opened my eyes, still facing the wall.  "How'd you know?"

"I felt it," he said. 

"Maybe you're paranoid," I said, smiling into the pillow.

"Maybe I just know you."

"Maybe."  I closed my eyes again.  "What time is it?"

He reached across me a moment, then drew back.  "Nine-thirty-four.  That's what your Magic Mirror says anyway."

_Nice.  Not even noon yet.  I don't have to move for hours._   "You'll be late."

"That's okay.  My record's pretty clean."

I couldn't stand it any longer.  "Would you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"I'm laying next to you."

"Next to me.  Ha.  You're practically on top of me."

"No, that's last night you're thinking of."

WHOOSH!  Despite my soreness, I bolted upright, my heart beating twice as fast, praying it was a joke.  When I looked at Freddie, though, my hopes sank.  Again, he was bare-chested, his eyes were squinting in pain, even thought the lights were out and the window closed, and his five o'clock shadow was anything but gone.  He rolled over on his back, folded his arms over his chest.  Despite his bedraggled appearance, he looked very pleased with himself. 

_Dear God, I spoke too soon, please tell me I wasn't the one he got lucky with!_

Still, I dared not assume.  "You're not serious, are you?"

"Never."

"I mean, about us."

His brows rose aloofly.  "Us?"

"Yeah, us, you know- um- and how we, ah-"

"Darling, stop stuttering.  What's wrong?"

I swallowed.  Was there even a way to put this nicely?  "Freddie, did we sleep together?"

"Who wants to know?"

His nonchalance rubbed salt into the opening wound, but I answered, "I do.  Badly."

He smiled.  "Why, yes.  We did." 

I'd never experienced what I've heard called "blank horror."  But if it means what I think it does, this qualified.  I covered my mouth.  "Oh," was all I could say.  "Oh... oh, no..."

"Oh, yes," Freddie said.  "It happened.  I tell you, best sleep I've had in a week."

Immediately, terrified, angry questions started cooking in my head.  _Oh, Freddie, how could you?  Why would you sleep with a girl clearly beyond sentience?  You know better than that!  Don't you?  What makes you think I would have allowed it had I had my head together?  When have I ever let on I wanted it?  We agreed from the very start!  Why?_

But before I could ask any of them, Freddie continued.  "Yeah, you were having some kind of nightmare, and you started crying out, it woke me.  I got up and lay here next to you to try to settle you down.  As soon as I slipped in, you calmed down, and it was so cozy in here I just went to sleep myself."

I sat there, dumbfounded.  "You mean, that's it?"

"Of course.  What did you-" His eyes widened in fake surprise.  "Oh!  Sorry, were you asking if we had sex?"

"Um-"

"We slept together, dear, and that's it."

"So we didn't, uh-"

He rolled his eyes.  "I'll say it for you: no, we didn't do IT."

For my own sake, I took him at his word.  I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  "Oh, thank God." 

"But I mean, there was this one point when you started getting a little freaky and you kind of threw yourself at me-"

I bopped him over the head with my pillow.  Freddie wasn't fooling me this time; there was no mistaking that bouncy tone he used for jesting and jesting alone. 

"So we're playing rough today, eh?" he cried.  In one smooth motion he rose with his pillow in his hand and swatted it at my face.  I hit back, and popped him right in the mouth.

"OW!" Freddie dropped his pillow, slapped a hand against his jaw. 

I began to laugh until I realized he wasn't pretending.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," he mumbled through his hand.

"Liar.  Let me see."  I switched on the nightstand lamp, which burned my eyes and his.  I still had my contacts in from last night; despite the dry plastic feeling behind my lids, I was able to get a good look at him.  Redness rimmed his bloodshot eyes, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. 

"You look awful," I said, but to myself I was thinking, _Oh, Freddie, you make a hangover look so sexy, my God, what gives you the right to be this frickin' beautiful?_  

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Don't mention it.  Now let me see."

"No.  You just insulted me.  Go awa-"

"Oh, shut up and show me."

I pulled his hands from his mouth and found a big purplish bruise under his bottom lip.  I gasped.  "How did that happen?  Did I do that?"

"Not directly."

"Was I aiming at somebody else and just h-"

"No, darling, that was Rod."

"Rod who?"

"The guy you were making friends with last n- You mean to tell me you don't know who Rod Stewart is, either?"

"I don't know names!" I lied.  _Rod Stewart liked me?  Whoa!  What a night!_

He just shook his head.  "Do you know anything?"

"What did he hit you for?"

"He didn't like that I was trying to get you home, and made things a bit difficult."

"Looks like he cut you a little, too.  Did you put some ice on it?"

Freddie huffed in irritation.  "I had my hands full, dear, wasn't really thinking about my lip."

"Hands full?  With what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You mean, 'I'?"

"Not today!" I cried.

"Whatever.  Yeah, you were a goner, so John and I brought you home and I carried you up to your room-"

"You carried me?"  My voice grew soft.

"Yes, and-"

"Thank you."

The red-black eyes glowed.  "And, uh, we changed your clothes, and sent you to sleep.  Voila."

"Oh, Freddie, you didn't have to do that-"

"No, we didn't.  But we did.  Now go make me breakfast, I need a cup of tea so badly I can't see straight."

"Yes, sir!"  A little too zealously I swung myself over the side of the bed.  Oscar hopped off as well, but without the sudden leg cramps and achy muscles that assailed me as soon as I stood up.  Before I could head down to the kitchen, though, Freddie stopped me again.

"Eve?"  
  
Rolling my eyes, I turned.  "Yes?"

"Are you, um- are you really married?"

"Do you want to tea or do you want to get personal?"

"Please answer me."

I laughed.  "Of course not."

"Then why did you tell Roger that?"

I walked back in and sat down on the bed, but Freddie started making noises about how far away I was, so I scooted closer and closer until finally I was lying down on the bed beside him again.  

"I had to get him off me somehow, Freddie,"  I finally answered him.  "And the line I typically use to turn undesirable guys off probably wouldn't work so well here."

"What line is that?"

"'I voted for Trump.'"  

"What is a Trump?"

"Give it ten years, you'll find out."

'Did you actually vote for it?"

"It's a him.  And yes, I did."

Freddie shrugged.  "So you didn't want Roger?"

"Not really. He's awful cute, don't get me wrong.  But he's-"

"Not your type?" he offered.

"Well, no, I guess not.  And certainly not enough to do it in the restroom.  That's filthy."

"You like it familiar and comfortable in a bed, right?"

"Yes, I d- Oh, for God's sake, Freddie, really?  How should I know?"

Freddie grinned, his hangover by no means standing in the way of his sexual innuendos.  "Just thought I'd ask."  

He sighed, then went on, "Well, we're going to have to figure something out because I backed you up, told him you are. Married, I mean.  We two of us have to get our stories straight.  What did you say his name was?"

"Mark, I think.  Yes."

"Mark.  Not too bad, although I think Daniel is a good name too."

"I love Daniel.  I think I'll name one of my kids that."

"Daniel Dubroc.  That's got a lovely ring to it."

"No, I'll be married by the time I have any kids, so he'd have my husband's last name."

Freddie looked me over.  "You've got it all planned out, don't you?"

I nodded.  "I love plans.  They keep things organized."

"Yeah, but Life has a funny way of being disorganized, so to sort of keep things seeming, um, neat and sort of cleaned up, people tend to throw the hairy bits out as they go."

"Not if you've got a Life plan."

"Oh, really?  Did your life plan include this past week?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Would you ever tell your husband, whoever he is, that you slapped Rod Stewart?"

"Did I?  See, I don't even believe that, why would he?"

Freddie went on, "Or that he isn't the only one who's seen you without your clothes on?"

My blood ran cold.  "Oh, no.  You saw-"

"Yes!  We saw _eeev_ -erything."

"WE?"

"Well, John was helping me, so uh- yes, the two of us."

_Good God, is there nothing you don't know about me now?_ "Then how am I supposed to believe that we didn't-"

"Darling, how many times do I have to say it?  Last night, we did not f---.  Okay?"

I winced at the word and how ugly it made the act sound, but I asked, "You promise?"

"On my life."

I nodded.  "Okay, it's just, you saw me without my clothes on, and now I'm so embarrassed, because God knows how I behaved last night, because I don't."

"You were bad," he said softly.  "You were a very bad girl last night."

"You're not helping."

"That's the idea."  He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me down toward him, and before I knew what was happening he kissed me. 

My weakened, hungover mind was clouding, but still I found the clarity to draw back a little and say, "That doesn't hurt your lip, but the pillow did?"

Freddie's voice hardened.  "Don't you ever stop talking?" 

"I-"

He kissed me again, this time a little less innocently.  Fire leapt from his half-parted lips, and it went straight to my head.  My eyes fluttered closed.  I felt myself kissing him back, my hands caressing his stubbly face. 

Suddenly Freddie rolled over, moving me along with him so that now I was on my back and his body pressed heavily against mine.  His lips slid away from my own and traveled down to my jawline, going down, down until they fell upon my neck, where the kisses turned to gentle bites.  I struggled frantically to pull myself together but he wouldn't stop long enough to give me the chance.  Oh, such feelings stirring inside.  A far cry from Roger, for sure.

Freddie's breathing changed, the normal soft sighs becoming hot, deep, and labored as he started sucking- not just biting, sucking- on my neck.  This was getting out of control.  I tried to make myself push him away but it was as though I had no power over the rest of me.  Silently I pleaded, _Freddie, please don't start moaning, if you start moaning I won't be able to handle it and then we'll both be in tro-_

DING-DONG!

_Saved by the bell._

With this distraction, I found my strength again.  "Someone's at the door!" I hollered, pushing him off me.  I forced myself not to look at him as I flew to the closet and threw on my robe. 

I was just about to hustle downstairs when a pillow soared through the air and struck me in the head.  Freddie was sitting up, his eyes tired but flat with a chilly mask.

"Hey, you little tease, just thought I'd mention," he growled coldly.  "You might want to do something about your neck."

"Why?"

"Trust me."

I darted into the bathroom and inspected.  He was right.  There were little red marks all over both sides of my throat.  _Thanks, Freddie, for turning my neck into a pizza_.  I thought of asking to borrow a scarf, but the door bell rang again, and if I took too long in answering someone might get the wrong idea.

"And I am not a tease!" I shouted across the hall.

"You're so wild to answer the door, so f---ing answer it!"

I sighed.  "So rude.  I'm going to put cyanide in your tea."

"Arsenic works better, try that."

_Just another peaceful morning in the Mercury household_ , I quipped to myself.  Thinking it would save time, I slid down the banister.  I pulled my robe collar up around my neck to hide my very first hickeys (oh, I've always hated that word) and flung the door open to see Roger standing there.

His head was down, eyes focused on the car keys he was twirling around on his finger.  He didn't know it was me who had answered.  That's the only reason why he said what he said:

"Hey, Fred, so what's the score after last night?  Be honest."

"Hmm?" I squinted.

"Do I owe you, or did she play coy with you too?"

Very slowly, his words sank into my brain.  "I beg your pardon?"

He looked up, then, and eyes widened.  "Oh, uh, hi there, Eve.  Uh, I was, um, talking about the score in a, er- there was a football match on, and we made a bet, one hundred pounds, against each other- but it wasn't even really a bet, it was more like a, um..."

"Okay, I know what you mean," I nodded, but I'm not stupid.  "Did she play coy with you too?" he said.  If ever was a sum-up, there was one.  A bet?  On she- aka, me?  One hundred pounds? 

What was going on here?

 


	32. Friends No More?

 

"Is Freddie there, though?" Roger asked.

"He is, he's just- preoccupied," I said, gritting my teeth together.  "I was about to make breakfast, would you care to join us?"

"Oh, no, I won't stay that long."

"Cup of tea?"

"I'm fine, really- unless there's any BJ in the fridge, in which case..." Roger snickered.

I forced a smile.  "The only BJ allowed around here is BJ Thomas, and he's absent.  But if you want OJ, there's maybe one more glass full left.  It's all yours."

"Nah, I'm just teasing."

"Come on in.  I'll go get him for you." 

Roger strolled in, and as he did, I absently I let go of my collar.  He must have seen have seen the marks of my own personal vampire, because he muttered to himself, with trademark indiscretion, "Hm.  He just might at that."

My cheeks burned.  I made myself a glass of water (my legs ached horribly and my lips were dry) then climbed back upstairs.  "Be right back," I said.

As I trekked up the stairs, however, my knees began to tremble.  "One hundred pounds."  The words reverberated within my skull.  I lifted a hand to my splotchy throat.  Shame shot through my veins.  I had let Freddie go further with me than I had let any other boy ever try for.  So all his little gestures, the escalating affection, his mesmerizing charm- all a ploy.  All tactics.

For a measly one hundred pounds.

Freddie spent more than that on a bottle of wine.  

So I was not only a stray kitten, but a CHEAP one at that!  

My trust in him shattered.  My face froze; I would not give him the satisfaction of tears.  My fists clenched.  Such a fool, such a naive fool.  What did I really expect of Mr. High-Flying-No-Strings-Sex?  The selfsame fellow who said that women, like modern paintings, were such that "you can't enjoy them if you try to understand them." 

Well, at least I knew for a fact what I was dealing with.  The game was up, and how.

Freddie would not make a fool out of me.  I would not let him.  I made up my mind.  The kisses stopped there.  The embraces stopped there.  The necking, especially, stopped there.  We were friends, and friends only, if even that.  And I seriously doubted if I could so much as think of him as a friend now.

Because quite frankly, in that moment, I wanted to absolutely kill him.

When I came back to my room, I found my bed empty.  Across the hall I heard the sound of running water; he'd pushed himself into the shower.  His bedroom door was open, so I let myself in.  I was not too surprised to find the bathroom door slightly ajar as well.

**_NFO: Freddie doesn't like closing doors unless he's slamming them to make a point.  Symptom of claustrophobia or monophobia perhaps?_ **

One thing about it: knowing about the bet and how Freddie apparently saw me gave me back my analytical prowess, cleared up my perspective.  It's impossible to see anything as it truly is through a soft focus lens anyway.

So I knocked on the bathroom door.  "Freddie?"

No answer.

"Freddie, Roger's here, he wants to talk to you."

No answer.

I blame cocaine withdrawal ( _Never again, no way, no how, easily one of the stupidest things I have ever let myself do, don't you dare put cocaine in your coffee, it's disgusting_ )  and the bad judgment that comes with it for the dumb mistake I made next: I pushed the door open. 

"Are you even in here?" I called.

But the shower stall stood empty, the curtain still drawn back.  The water was hot, steam fogging up the mirrors and the tile.

Someone behind me tapped my left shoulder.  I turned to the left to see, and saw nobody there.  But on my right side, a cool breeze flew past me.  Age old trick.  I should have known. 

As I turned back to the front, there Freddie stood, no more well-groomed than when I last saw him.  His dressing gown was drawn loosely around him, the belt untied.  He leaned casually against the door frame, still irritated.

"What?" he demanded.

"Roger's downstairs, he wants a word with you."  My voice was frosty.

Freddie looked me up and down -with what intent, I couldn't, and wouldn't, decipher- and requested, "Can you take a message, I'm not in the best shape if you'll notice."

"I noticed."

Freddie shifted off the doorway and reached his arms up in a stretch.  I don't know why my eyes roved below his waist, but what I saw there as he stretched made them widen in shock.  I tried not to gasp, but I couldn't help a sudden sharp breath.  Freddie wasn't wearing any underclothes.  He looked down as well, following my gaze which had stayed there longer than it should ever have.  

"Oops," he murmured, glancing back up at me.  The twisted smirk returned.  "Well, I mean, aside of _that_ , I'm not in the best- you know."

I took a deep breath through my nose.  And he just kept talking, making me more and more uncomfortable.  "What's wrong?  You didn't mind so much while you were sleeping.  I sleep in the buff, you know.  I highly recommend it.  If you had any funny feelings last night, it was probably me."

I felt my left hand clench and unclench as I weighed the pros and cons of slapping it squarely across those high cheekbones.  Civility won out.  But, I still had my sanity- and the upper hand.  It was these two which prevented me from a complete breakdown.

My face went rigid as I stated, "Roger's only here about a matter of one hundred pounds.  Some kind of bet, it seems.  Do you know anything about that, Freddie?"

He quit smirking in a trice.  "I, uh..."

"Yes, thought you might.  Though I dare say it's none of my business, where could I possibly fit into a bet between you two anyway?" I grinned, but my eyes were hard- and, as I was told later, quite frightening.

"I'll be right down," Freddie said, now pale.  "And look, Evie, I can explain-"

"Good, I'd love to see you try," I said before turning around and heading for the door.  Then, unable to help myself, I looked back at him and said, "And Freddie, please, put some shorts on, or something.  You look a little cold."

As angry as I was with Freddie, I still couldn't block my anarchic physical responses to him.  My hands shook, and an image of Freddie's body I didn't expect to have today wouldn't leave my head.  From out of nowhere this thought shot through me as I began my descent, _The man is blessed, oh boy, is he blessed._

The slap I intended for Freddie I gave myself.  _GOD!  Freddie was using me this whole time and I am still so desperately attracted!_

I ran my hands over my defiled neck.  I had never felt so foolish, so utterly stupid, in my life.  Still I took solace in the knowledge that neither Freddie nor Roger had won me.  Nor would they, I decided.  I was not a prize to compete for, I was not a spoil to boast about.  And I was not a racehorse to put money on.  

_Freddie, I may be physically attracted to you,_ I stewed silently.  _I may think you are the sexiest man I've ever had the misfortune to let kiss me.  I may want you without wanting to want you.  But this one action says more about you than speech upon speech of explanation.  And from where I stand right here, right now, you've blown it.  Congratulations._

I went downstairs where Roger awaited.  

 

 


	33. You're Certifiable, Freddie

I brushed past the handsome blond as I entered the kitchen.  Roger asked me for a light, which I gave to him. 

"He should be down in about five minutes," I made myself say.  "So, what are you guys doing in the studio today?"

Roger took a drag on his cigarette.  "Basically same stuff.  We may work on one of my songs this time around."

"Oh, what a shame."

Roger's brows furrowed.  "Huh?"

"Er, I mean, what a shame I won't be there to see it."

"Will you not be coming back this morning?"

I shook my head.  "The cats need me.  Speaking of which, I ought to feed them, I bet they're starving.  Oh, and tea.  We need tea.  Very important."

That was the best excuse I could come up with for turning away from him and facing the wall.  With trembling hands I gripped the counter top.  I was already losing control.  Blindly I fumbled around for the teapot, hot salty tears threatening to surface.  My nose began to cramp, and my throat to tighten.  Only two intelligible, coarse thoughts were swimming in my brain now: _Damn your eyes, Freddie_ , and _Only one hundred frickin' pounds_! 

It never occurred to me to think I might be reacting a little too violently for the way I claimed to feel.  For someone who supposedly only wanted Freddie for his unique looks and slight build (I never was one for the Schwarzenegger types), I certainly took it hard.  But in my daze, I forgot to notice that maybe, just maybe, something sweeter, stronger, and a whole lot messier was beginning to bloom.  Perhaps if I'd paid attention, things might have turned out differently- and I might have saved myself a great deal of heartache.

But now, I prayed for strength.  I couldn't let Freddie see how this affected me.  I set the full teapot on the stove and turned on the heat underneath it.  In the back of my head I told myself I needed to keep busy, what with idle hands being the devil's plaything and all that.  Thirsting for distraction, I flicked on the radio. 

And what should I hear but Rod Stewart urging his sweetie: "Tonight's the night/ It's gonna be alright-"

I adjusted the dial, found another clear signal: "-Touching you, so warm and tender/ Lord, I feel such a sweet surrender-"

My jaw tensed.  _Not helping, Andy._ "Why do there have to be so many frickin' songs about sex?" I asked aloud.

Roger took a puff.  "Do you want me to answer that, or...?"

"No, actually," I muttered.  I made one last station change and heard the worst song that could possibly have played:

" _Paper roses, paper roses,_

_Oh, how real those roses seem to be._

_But they're only imitation,_

_Like your imitation love fo_ -"

Click.

_Screw you, Marie Osmond_.

"So Okoy," Roger teased.  "Where'd you get those love-bites?"

"Love-bites?" I managed.  "What are you talking about?"

The blond came close to me.  "There," he said, pointing at various places on my neck, "there, there, and there.  Love-bites."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah.  Where'd you get them?"

"I don't know," I lied.

"Are you sure of that?" Roger was smiling. 

"As sure as anything.  Why?"

"So it wasn't your husband?"

"How should I know?  I can't account for anything that happened last night. It might have been."

Roger sighed.  "Eve, why don't you come clean about it.  You're not married, are you?"

_Why is Roger interrogating me?_ "Why is it important?"

"I just want to know why you'd lie about having a husband."

I was already in a hole, and for some reason I didn't want to hurt Roger's feelings even though he was just as guilty as Freddie, so I kept digging.  "I didn't lie.  I just don't have a ring."

"Where is your husband, then?"

"He's at home, worrying about me."

"Why didn't he come with you?  Why are you here all alone?"

Feebly I changed the subject.  "How is Dominique, Rog?"

"Yes, Roger, how is your lovely Dom?" Freddie's voice rang from the stairway.  I turned back around, making sure my chin was lifted and my jaw squared.  In seconds, he'd raced into the kitchen, now fully clothed in rude (but still decent- I guess) shorts and a tank, and stood against the counter beside me.

"She's all right," the drummer replied.  "I talked to her this morning."

Freddie nodded, folding his arms.  "Now what's so important that we couldn't discuss later?"

"Uh, could we talk about this in private?" Roger said.  I could almost feel his eyes graze the back of my neck.  "It's, um... just about-"

"One hundred pounds for a football match, for or against," I said quietly.  "Big whoop.  What's so special about football?"

Freddie glanced at me, but I refused to look back.

"Last I heard, the score was tied, Roger," Freddie answered. 

Roger shrugged.  "That's fair."  I saw a tiny little smile creep up one side of his mouth; it was much more subtle than his usual one, but we saw it.

"What's so funny?" Freddie asked.

Roger blinked.  "No, I'm just thinking, it's rather odd."

"What is?"

With a callused hand, he stroked the especially red spot on my right side, as if I was some 4H animal in a livestock show.  "Very odd indeed, Eve. These love-bites you let him give you and yet you've got a man waiting at home.  But you seem to me, rather the faithful, monogamous type."

"Who'd you say gave her love bites?" Freddie asked.  _Why are you guys talking about my neck?  Why is this important?_

Roger cocked his head.  "You did, didn't you?"

Freddie squinted.  "No, I didn't."

Roger made a face of complete disbelief.  I wanted to do the same, but I couldn't chance blowing my cover.  I rolled my eyes saying, "If you guys are just going to talk about the blemishes on my neck, I'll feed the cats and go clean up.  Leave you to it."

The boys, though, were ignoring me.  "Well then, who did?" Roger asked.

"You saw it yourself.  Rod did it."

"Rod?" Roger exclaimed. 

"Yeah, Rod Stewart.  He and Eve were having quite the time out there, dancing, flirting, things like that."

Roger bent closer and peered at my skin.  "Rod did that?"

"Eve probably doesn't remember," Freddie admitted.  "Do you, dear?"

I shook my head, returning attention to the cats' food bowls. 

"Well, I do.  And I remember how she was last night.  Someone spiked her coffee, I think.  Married or not, the poor dear was not herself."

I looked up from the can opener I was twisting ever so slowly. _What are you playing at, Freddie?_

"I'm inclined to believe 'not', myself," Roger quipped.

"Well, _I'm_ inclined to believe whatever she tells me is true."

Roger half-smiled. "Pop quiz: what's her husband's name?"

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Mark."

"Last night, you said Steve."

"So?  I made a mistake.  Eve, his name is Mark, right?"

I nodded.

"There.  Seriously, man. Can you give the whole married thing a break?"

"Freddie, come on! Eve's just funning with us. She's-"

"You calling me a liar?" I asked.

"Not a liar, precisely, just- look.  If you weren't interested, Eve, you could have just said so."

Freddie scoffed.  "Roger, really.  Eve's too much of a lady.  Last night's frivolities aside, she's too sweet a girl to just insult a fellow to his face."

His pleasant tone of voice was deceiving.  Only he and I knew those words were double-edged- and that's exactly how I took them.  "I'll be out of here in two shakes, and you can cut it out and talk like normal people-"

"No, stay." 

I shook my head, and bent to give the cats their breakfast.  Slowly I lifted back upright, my muscles aching.  Like a woman three times my age I shuffled toward the living room when Freddie spoke again, this time much more gently. 

"Please stay."

I'm a sucker for good manners, even from unpredictable, beautiful, scoundrel, no-good panthers like Freddie.  I stayed.

Freddie went on, "As I was saying, so really the only alternative we have is to just accept she's married- and leave it at that."

Roger shrugged.  "Like I said, I'd need to see the license before I accept that."

"That's your problem."

I nodded, then blurted without thinking, "Anyway, we'd have to go all the way to Vegas to get a copy of that."

Me and my big mouth. 

"What's that you say?" Freddie asked.  I should have looked at him as I answered.  I might have detected the wheels turning behind his eyes.

"Nothing, just- it would be quite an undertaking to get a copy of Mark's and my marriage license, seeing as we got married in Las Vegas.  But since it's of absolutely no consequence-"

"Couldn't you just send off for it?" Roger said.

"Are you kidding me?"

But he wasn't.  "Can't you do that over there?  Just send in a request, and get it through the mail or something?"

I stared at him, my head becoming a psychologist's for a moment and diagnosing like wildfire.  I stood between two rock star egos big enough to crush me.  This wasn't for money; these guys spent money like nobody's business.  Ego, pride: that's what this was about.  It defied all rational explanation.  I don't think even Sigmund Freud could handle this.  Roger was a ladies' man, with blue eyes that got women into the bedroom before he even walked up and asked them their names.  Girls didn't tell him no; it just wasn't done.  But I told him no.  Roger couldn't accept that I had rebuffed him.  He wanted proof. There had to be a reason I didn't want him.  So I gave him one.

Yet it was somehow a blow to think that I, Julia/Eve Samuels/Dubroc, had tied the knot with someone indubitably less attractive than him, and even if I were given a chance to "cheat," I held my own.  Therefore, Roger couldn't accept that I didn't want him, but he also could not accept that I was "married."  It made no sense; no matter how many times I turned the kaleidoscope, the design it made still looked unforgivably lopsided.

And Freddie?  I didn't know what his beef was.  What did he care?  What did I matter?

To answer Roger, I shook my head.  "My father's in law," I explained.  "He told me once that you have to actually be in the county where you get married if you want to go get a copy of the license."

"Hm," Freddie hummed aloud.  I think even he wanted me to see he was thinking.  But I denied him a reaction.

"So," Roger said, "you can't just send for it?"

"Nope.  Sorry.  There are rules even in Las Vegas.  Not many, but they exist."  I dusted off my hands.  Since I couldn't skip off to the shower, I decided to start working on food.  A _Moonstruck_ breakfast sounded excellent: sauteed red bell peppers I'd bought a few days ago, with eggs fried in toast.  

"Are you staying for breakfast or what, Sneakers?" I said.

"Actually," Freddie cut in, "Roger was just leaving-"

"What are you making?" Roger interrupted.

I announced the menu to the two men on either side of me.  Roger apparently decided my cooking was better than a solely nicotine breakfast, so he rubbed his hands in anticipation and said, "Sounds perfect."  

I pulled the veg out of the fridge, then looked around for a suitable knife.  "How many eggs, boys?"

"Two," Roger said.

I looked at Freddie.  "And what about you?"

He shrugged and was silent.

"I'll make you two, then, and you can make up your mind what to do with them later."  It was then the tea started to whistle, and as I went to tend to it, I asked anyone who would listen, "And would someone please get out the _sliced_ bread for me?"  I emphasized "sliced" by stretching the word twice as long.  

Mini-rebellion.  How sweet it is.

"You bought sliced bread?" Roger laughed, looking at Freddie. "Did you know about that?"

"It was a weak moment," I sighed.  "I can't resist plain white pre-sliced bread, there's too much America in me.  You will forgive me, won't you, Fred?"

Freddie stood there, stone-faced, and didn't say whether he would.  And masked he stayed, all through breakfast, as he quietly ate half what was in front of him.  Despite already being a chain smoker, Roger gobbled up every bite as well as the conversation.  I had forgotten how long-winded Roger actually was.  The interviews I'd seen previously attested to that.

But I didn't have much of an appetite either, to my surprise.  But I shouldn't have been shocked.  Awkwardly sitting across from a very quiet Freddie is enough to hush the stomach.    
So really, I suppose, I'd only made breakfast for Roger- and I thought he was a pill.  

Without realizing it, I sleepily let out a wide yawn while Roger was talking about something.  Quickly I struggled to cover my mouth, but Freddie caught me.  Our eyes locked onto each others, my hand still cupped over my lips.  I saw his mouth twitch.  

Roger paused, looked at the two of us.  "What?  What'd I say?"

Freddie snorted a laugh, and it sounded so ridiculous coming out of him I burst out laughing.  I was still nowhere near happy with him.  But funny is funny, and I needed to take all the distraction I could get.  The tension in the room lessened dramatically.  And even Freddie visibly loosened up.

"What?  No seriously, what?" Roger asked.

"Nothing," I chortled.  "Nothing, you didn't do it."

"Hmmm."  Freddie again sighed aloud, leaning back in his chair.  He looked up over my head, apparently deep in thought.  After a moment, at last he spoke.

"Vegas," he mused.  "Sounds like a perfect day trip to me.  What do you think, Eve?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," I murmured, picking up my plate and putting it in the sink.  

"When do you want to go?"

"Whenever you want, dearie," I replied dryly.

"How's today?"

I assumed (DANGER! DANGER!) that Freddie was simply being a weird kind of snarky,  so I snarked back, "Well, aside of the album you guys have to work on, and the fact that Las Vegas is practically on the other side of the world, yeah, sure, let's pick up and go right now."

"You two," Roger muttered.  "I can't keep up with all your inside jokes..."  He looked at his watch, then leapt up from the table.  "I'd better get going.  Are you coming in today, Freddie?"

Freddie shrugged, lifting his plate for me to pick up.  "Might.  Probably won't.  I have to run an errand."

"How long should that take?"

"Long enough.  It's okay, Roger, you can do what you need to.  I won't always be there to hold your hand, you know."

 That sent a twinge through my stomach.  I dropped the plate in the sink, making a loud CLANG.  

Freddie looked up.  "Butterfingers, dear?"

I shook my head, my ears ringing with the last flip thing he had said.  "I won't always be there..."  Abruptly I remembered the skeleton hand from last night.  _Why did he have to remind me_?  Still, I waved goodbye to Roger ("Tell Mark I said hi," he said), my face blank, but my heart never ceasing its spin.  

I stayed in the kitchen, washing the dishes while Freddie saw Roger out.  I laid a towel across the counter and let the rinsed pieces drain.  I wasn't looking forward to being alone with Freddie, not when I had nothing to say to him that didn't bear a tinge of bitter sarcasm.

Only after I finished drying the plates and putting them away did I realize Freddie was watching me from the doorway.  I glanced at him, then shut the cabinet.

"All done?" he asked.

"Uh, yes," I replied.

"Good."  Freddie started talking to me in an excited voice, as if none of this morning had ever happened.  "So get yourself together, we haven't much time."

"What's the hurry?"

"If we're lucky, maybe we can get there and back in a day."

I frowned.  "Get where?"

"Las Vegas, you goose.  Where else?"

I rolled my eyes, thinking he was kidding.  "Right."

"Well, don't just stand there, start packing!  Make yourself presentable!  Good Lord, Eve, do something!"

Slowly it began to dawn on me that he wasn't joking around.  "Are you serious?"

"Roger wants proof.  Let's bring him proof."

My jaw dropped.  "But I'm not married!  I told you!"

"Details."

"That's kind of an important one, Freddie," I cried.

"We just need a license, everything else will fall into place.  Come on, get moving!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" Ah, how wonderful, I could again tell him "no."  "Who cares what Roger thinks?"

"I do.  That is, I care what he thinks about you.  Whatever else he thinks, can go f--- itself."

My eyes narrowed.  "Is this another bet?"

_Zing!_   Freddie grimaced.  "No, darling, listen-"

But the flow was tapped, and my high-running emotions were released.  "Look, Freddie, I know all you care about is that one hundred pounds you bet on my virginity, but I'm having no more of this."

That one hurt, too.  "Eve, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have done that, it was a lapse of concentration-"

"Yeah, I'll bet.  You guys can take this little charade and stick it.  I'm done."

"I know!  So am I!  Darling, please.  That's why we have to get to the States, get this worked out."

Again, his reasoning defied every law of physics.  "You're certifiable, Freddie!  You are one hundred percent, absolutely, positively out of your coconut."  I started up the stairs.  

Freddie seized my arms.  "Listen to me, you little tart.  Do you want Roger to stop breathing down your neck about this?"

His eyes frightened me down into a squeak.  "Yes."

"Then we're going."

I squirmed out of his grasp and folded my arms.  "No, we're not."

I marched up to my room and closed the door only for Freddie to open it up again, plop right down on the bed and cross his legs.  

"Give me one good reason why we shouldn't," he said.

"There's millions."

"Like?"

"Because you hurt me terribly and I hate your guts right now," was poised and ready for launch on my tongue, but I thought better of it.  I was still here by Freddie's good grace, and eviction was just a word away.

So I said, "Because it's stupid!"

"Weak.  Next!"

"My God.  What about the band?"

"What about them?  It's just a day or two."

"But they need you!"

"Not that much.  Next!"

I spluttered, "But it's- It's not practical!"

"Really, dear?  When have I ever cared about practicality?"

"You should."

"Well, I don't."  He yawned.  "Darling, you've yet to convince me otherwise.  Come on!  It'll be fun!"

"Freddie, you don't just make up a person to marry under Nevada law!"

"You don't have to be married to anyone real, just have some guy stand in and say his name is Mark Something-Or-Other- oh, dear, yes.  What's Mark's last name going to be?"

"Zuckerberg," I quipped under my breath.

"Oh, that's _awful_.  I love it.  Mark Zuckerberg."

I put my face in my hands and tried not to laugh. _This can't really be happening._

Aloud I said, "I can't be Mrs. Mark Zuckerberg, okay?  I want to marry someone real somewhere down the road."

"You don't have to be!  While we're there, we'll just pick up annulment papers and as soon as Roger gets a look at the license, you can sign the things and ship 'em off to get the marriage dissolved."  He slapped his thighs.  "Coo coo ka choo."

"You sound like you've given this a lot of thought."

"What do you think I was doing during breakfast?"

"AHA!"  I shouted, making Freddie jump a little.  I'd just had a brainstorm.  "I couldn't go to Las Vegas even if I wanted to.  You know why?"

Freddie laid back, straightened his legs.  "I'm crazy to know."

"I have no ID!" I proclaimed.  "I don't exist!  No valid license!  No Social!  No nothing!  You need a Passport to cross the ocean, get into America, but _I - Don't- Have one!  BOOM!"_ I pumped my fist in the air, thinking that was the end of it.

But this was Freddie Mercury I was talking to.  And all he did was close his eyes and smile.

Which unnerved me.  "So, um, I'll put up with Roger's jibes, thank you.  I'm tougher than I look."

Freddie looked into my eyes, and laughed diabolically.  

"What's so funny?"

"You are, my dear."

"Oh, well, thank you very much."

"Not at all."  He sighed.  "Well, if we can't get you in by legal means, I guess we'll just have to smuggle you in."

My heart sank.  "How?"

"Turn around."

I did.  And the blood went to my feet.  He was pointing at the 1 by .5 by .5 meter trunk I had kicked in frustration the very first night I was here. While too small for someone like Freddie, it was nonetheless big enough to comfortably enclose a girl of average height providing she was tucked into a fetal position.  I was average height- and a girl.

I filled in the rest of the blanks myself.

I looked back at Freddie, whose smile only grew wider.  I started vehemently shaking my head.  "Oh, no.  No, no, no no no no no no NO!"

While I was still telling him "No" over and over, he opened the trunk and said, "At least try it on for size."

He made me curl up inside it and found that I fit rather nicely, like a shoe in a shoebox. "Great, now we just need to pack and be off. Let's be ready and have you in there in forty-five minutes, all right?" 

Before I could answer, he traipsed into his bedroom. Freddie picked up the phone and called Mary to ask her to watch over the cats, as he had to leave the country for a little while. 

I kicked the trunk again. What good was the word "no" if every time it was used, Freddie went miraculously deaf? I huffed, walked into the bathroom with a change of clothes, and showered. I was tired of this.

Freddie was still on the phone, but not with Mary, when I dressed and walked back out, picked up my backpack, trudged down the stairs, and opened the door, about to leave. I had had enough of the idiocy, enough of being used, enough of being chewed on, both figuratively and literally. My patience was at an end.

_Look, I'll turn myself in,_ I said to myself. _Take me to jail, lock me up. Throw away the key. At least I'll be alone. I can't take this anymore._

Just before I walked out into the overcast day, I heard a soft meow behind me. I turned, and there was Oscar, staring up at me like always. Once he had my attention, he padded closer and nuzzled his head against my legs, looking up at me almost affectionately- which, for a cat, is saying something. I smiled, bending down to rub his back. The orange tabby purred, arching up against the palm of my hand as I stroked his fur.

"I'm in a house full of wildcats," I said aloud as I tapped Oscar's nose. "Any sane person would have left days ago. Why am I still here?"

"Evie?" Freddie called. "Darling? Where are you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Down here," I replied. To Oscar I whispered lightly, "You distracted me, you little fink. Now I can't sneak off. You guys planned this, didn't you?"

Freddie appeared at the top of the stairs. "What are you doing down there? We have less than half an hour and your hair's still wet."

I shrugged in defeat. "Shoot me."

"I'd rather not. I'm fond of this carpeting."

"I'll say this one more time," I told him. "This isn't important. I'm not important. The album is. Queen is. Why don't you take Mary to Vegas, have her pretend to be Eve Dubroc and you pretend to be Mark Zuckerberg, don't you know that would make her year?"

"Yeah, but I didn't bet on Mary."

"Exactly. You-"

"I what?"

"Never mind." In my head, though, I finished, _You have respect for her. I'm just me. You don't give a damn about me.  
_

"Freddie," I said, getting up off my knees, "I've got just one question for you."

He planted his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. Sitting still and talking on the telephone had given him the jitters. "Well, go on."

"Is this absolutely necessary?" I asked. "Do we have to do this?"

"That's two questions."

I blinked. "Would you mind answering at least one of them please?"

Freddie waltzed down the stairs a way, and folded his arms. "Darling, it's not a have-to, certainly, but I consider it an ought-to."

"What are you trying to prove?"

He ignored that question too. After a moment, Freddie said, "Look. I'll make a pact with you. You do this for me, come with me to Vegas, not only will I promise not to report you, I won't ask any more favors of you ever again."

I looked him over. "The favor to end all favors, eh?"

"You could say that."

"And Roger will back off?"

Freddie held up his right hand. "I'll make sure of it."

I rubbed my eyes, forgetting I had cat dander all over my fingers. "Very well," I sighed. "Travel by trunk. There are worse things, I suppose."

"Indeed, such as you leaving-"

"The front door open. I know, sorry." I walked over and closed the door and locked it.

When I looked back up at him, I noticed the oddest expression on his face. His features were a little stiff, and his eyes narrowed. Freddie let out a deep breath through his nose.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

With an annoyed little cough, Freddie put his hand on the rail and snapped, "Just start packing so we can f---ing go. Jesus." He turned then and hustled toward his bedroom, slamming the door.

_Good Lord, the man's practically bipolar._

Oscar was now walking tight circles around me, his tail curling around my shins. Even though he started my throat to itching and my eyes to watering, this little guy was so cute. I couldn't resist petting him.

_Maybe that's the answer_ , I wondered. _Like I do Oscar, I find Freddie cute (or in his actual case, sexy) and so, though I know neither of them are good for me, I stick around and put up with them. I'm not trapped here, and yet I stay. Because... he's cute. Cute, but mean and manipulating. Yeah. That's just great. What happened to my standards?  
_

"There's only two things keeping me here, Oscar," I told the little tabby. "You, and his cheekbones. That's it. I can't stand the rest of him."

To all the cats, I said, "See you later, my children, got to go pack. I'm being smuggled into Las Vegas to fake a marriage to Mark Zuckerberg."

In spite of myself, I burst out laughing. _And people thought Freddie sneaking Princess Diana into a gay bar was off the wall..._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal here.  
> For the record, the Princess Diana story is completely apocryphal, a David Wigg fabrication with no foundation in truth... but it's still a cute idea. ;)


	34. Mission: Implausible

My fingers ticked against my thighs to the rhythm of the music I had softly pumping into my ears. I was listening to my movie soundtrack playlist, the best I could come up with to salve my quickly developing claustrophobia. The "Pink Panther Theme" had played three times already in the shuffle. But it fit so nicely with my current situation, I had to hear it again when it came around the fourth time.

I had my head almost stuck between my stiffening knees by this point. I shifted my legs with what space I had. And it wasn't much. The trunk smelled of dust, leather, and old book paper. The air inside it was indescribably hot and stuffy, the little holes in the top I had cut for myself doing little to fix that. My shoulders ached from hunching over so long. I paused the music a moment, peered at the time.

I groaned. I'd only spent an hour in this godforsaken box? Lies! I'd been in this trunk for ages! I was born in here!

It was getting harder and harder not to beat against the side and call for help, but I didn't know if the muffled voices I heard just above the lid were friendly. A lot of good a panic attack would do me in the middle of a customs line.

_Okay, I feel an existential crisis coming on_ , I said to myself. _Who am I? I'm Julia Samuels. Not Eve Dubroc, Julia Samuels. Remember that. I'm a psych student from 2017. Where am I? I'm in an elevator stuck between heaven and hell, though right now I feel a little closer to the lower levels. It's the year 1977 where I am at present. And the guy I'm living with seems hell-bent on stealing my sanity from me even though that's almost all I have left. How did I get here again?_ _Why am I in this dumb box about to get shipped to Las Vegas? Oh, yeah. Because, Freddie. Of course. How could I forget._

The trunk fell from some ledge, couldn't have been five feet off the ground. But with the one-hundred-fifteen pound female bulk it held, it toppled over and plunged heavily to the ground. I hit my head against the side of the trunk, barely stifling an "Oof."

"Careful!" I heard Freddie's voice, laced with nerves, a short distance away. "I've got some very delicate stuff in there."

Two men took either end of the trunk and with a grunt lifted me up. They started hauling me up a stairway; I felt myself lean forward into my legs, brutalizing my back further. _Eight hours more of this. I want to die._

"Just put it up in there with us. Yes, that's nice. Perfect." Freddie sounded anything but calm. Maybe he'd give us away even before I had the chance to. Oh, the NFOs I was racking up. Hopefully I'd remember all of them for later official recording.

A few minutes later, I was set heavily down, and one of the two men asked, "What's all packed in there? Cinder blocks?"

"Something more precious than diamonds, my dear," Freddie cooed.

"A lot heavier, too," the other fellow remarked. "I do believe I strained a muscle."

I snorted. _Wimps. Freddie slung me over his shoulder that one time and didn't even bat an eyelash._

They started pushing the trunk across the floor. Someone opened a sliding door and the two movers shoved me in. With a couple more gripes each, Tweedledee and Tweedledum walked out. I noticed several other voices as I was pushed along- all English, but none I automatically recognized. Not that I expected to know anyone on a public airplane, I just blandly wondered.

But it was odd, the way I was being taken to the luggage area of the plane. It seemed like they were carrying me down the aisle right in front of all the passengers. Weird plane. Was this how they worked way back in the 70's? Somehow I didn't quite believe that.

A fist tapped lightly against the trunk top. "How's it going in there?" Freddie whispered. 

"Freddie! What are you doing back here?"

"Checking on you," he replied. "How do you feel?"

"Is there a chiropractor in the house?" I joked weakly.

Freddie snickered. "Just a few more minutes, darling. I promise."

"Who do you think you're fooling? I'm stuck in here another eight hours at least!"

That was how long it took to reach the JFK International from London's Heathrow Airport, where I assumed we were sitting now. According to Freddie, we would fly across the Atlantic, stop briefly in New York City for fuel, then make the rest of the trip nonstop to Las Vegas. I hoped I could sneak one little break in between time to stretch. I didn't want to go through the rest of my life as a deformed human pretzel just because Freddie had a funny idea.

"What makes you think that?"

"That's what you told me. Shoo! You shouldn't be back here anyway!"

"Oh," Freddie said, "I know what you mean now. Ooo, won't you be surprised."

"Freddie, I'm too achy for surprises, tell me what's goi-"

"Sh!" The clip-clop of platform soles was approaching us. Without realizing it Freddie put his hand over my air holes.

A few seconds of silence, when a deeper, less refined voice said something and Freddie collapsed into relieved laughter. "Sharon, my dear, you scared the shit out of me!"

"Sharon" made a clever comeback I couldn't quite make out, but Freddie's rejoinder was "Oh, but you know better than that, you've certainly seen it enough," and he said it in such a way that I honestly had no problem not catching what the first part was.

"Are those two muppets off the plane yet, darling?" Freddie asked. "Oh, good. Can you distract the ladies for me a m- oh, well, I suppose Straker's ahead of you there. Never mind. Give me a second, be right out."

_Wait, wait, wait. Peter Straker's coming too? What is this?_

I heard Freddie fiddle with a door, then he tiptoed back over to me. "Alright, Evie, let's get you out of there."

"But you didn't pay for a ticket for two, did you?"

"I didn't pay for any tickets."

"What? But how-"

"Do you want out?"

"Yes."

"Then enough with the questions. God, I can scarcely hear myself think."

But I squeezed in one more. "What about my papers and stuff?"

"Darling, just trust me, okay?"

_Trust YOU. That's a laugh,_ I grumbled. "Sure, now would you please let me out if you're really offering?"

"Actually, no. I'm just here to get your hopes up. Gotcha." He got up off his knees and moved away. 

"Where are you-"

"You said I should shoo, so, I'm shooing. See you in eight hours." 

I was locked in a hot, cramped trunk, and Freddie the carefree cavalier was playing head games- and I still hadn't entirely recovered from stringing out the night before. I abruptly no longer cared about getting caught. I was just angry now. 

" _Let me out of here, damn you!_ " I shouted.

"That's better," Freddie quipped, walking back. _  
_

_Did he just want to hear me swear? What's so great about that?_

From within my imperfect darkness I heard a little rattling on the side as he worked at the lock. All of a sudden the trunk was flooded with light. Slowly I put my hands on either side of the open trunk. I stood on shaky, weak knees that buckled a little. Freddie caught my elbows before I dropped down again, leading me over to the bed. I fell back against the white shag bedspread, stretching my limbs luxuriously and cracking my neck.

"Prettiest girl I've ever seen come in a box," Freddie sang.

"Thanks," I said as I rolled over on my stomach.

He leaned down and rubbed my shoulders. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You try folding yourself in there for an hour, and then we'll talk," I whispered, forgetting to be indignant at his touch. I went face down into the covers. What wonderful hands he had. They knew exactly where the soreness collected-

I lifted my head and frowned. A bed in the luggage area? Such a nice one too, a queen sized mattress with a lit lamp and nightstand on either side. And the elaborate psychedelic wallpaper it was pushed against didn't seem like a standard plane commodity. I sat up.

"Is this the plane?" I asked. 

"No," Freddie said, pleasure warming his voice. "This is the bedroom _on_ the plane."

Before I could say anything, he sauntered around to the door and opened it. My jaw dropped.

Freddie grinned. " _That's_ the plane."

I slid off the bed and wobbled out, unable to believe my eyes. I was staring down a carpeted corridor that looked like the inside of the _Enterprise_. Plush couches lined one wall of the plane, broken only by what looked like an electric piano and a full bar. On the other side, comfy chairs that belonged in a bachelor pad stood, one of which occupied by none other than Peter Straker, who was naughtily chatting up a young woman dressed like a flight attendant. In the air I detected the faint but ever-lingering odor of marijuana, mingling with a fresher one of cigarettes, one of which was resting in the hand of the one and only Paul Prenter, who appeared from behind the divider.

In spite of Mr. Little Black Rain Cloud leering at me once more, I felt myself get a little excited. Freddie put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, "Surprise."

I turned to him with a widening smile. "How did you get a hold of this thing?"

"Very easily, in fact. It was just sitting here, looking rather lonely, in need of a party to shuttle somewhere. And since we're quite the party, I decided we couldn't possibly spring for anything less."

"We're taking this plane all the way to Vegas?" My suddenly high-pitched voice (thank God, my laryngitis was finally leaving my throat) gave away my mounting energy. 

"We've got her for about sixty hours starting now, in case we should be, um, delayed, of course," Freddie winked. 

Straker looked at me, wide-eyed. "Freddie, is she what you've snuck on here in that case?"

"She?" "Sharon" exclaimed from one of the chairs, which had its back to me. An oddly clad man with shaggy hair sticking out of his newsboy cap rose from it and turned. And I wanted to faint.

"Bad luck," Peter drawled. "I thought maybe it was something a little less scandalous, like champagne or blow." He laughed at his own joke.

"Don't you worry about that, love," "Sharon" said. "There's plenty of both."

"Are-" I swallowed, trying to keep myself under control. "Are all you guys coming along?"

"Us and a few others, they should be along in a moment," Freddie said. "Should have told you, dear, sorry. But I did say it was a party. You don't just charter the _Starship_ and fly solo."

The _Starship_. That was Led Zeppelin's tour plane in the early to mid-70's, a notorious orgy hub. I made a mental note not to touch any of the doors or walls without sanitizing my hands immediately afterward.

"So which of Freddie's little dears might you be?" Sharon lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and came closer.

"This is Eve," Freddie crooned. "Eve, this is Sharon, also known as Elton."

With a blank face, I put out my hand, let him pump it up and down. "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road guy," I said slowly, to myself saying, _Don't fangirl. Don't fangirl. No autographs, don't be impressed, I know you're tired, but don't lose it._

Elton John smiled, giving me a fine view of the gap in his front teeth. "That's me."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Oh, right, you recognize _him_."

"That's the only album I know!" I lied.

"That's good enough," Elton chuckled. "Are you here to keep us entertained, Miss Eve?"

I balked. "Entertained? Uh-"

"I'm about to explain all that," Freddie cut in quickly, "I just need everybody to pay attention, are those friends of yours on board yet, Straker?"

As he spoke, two strangers stepped on board with a carry-on suitcase each, which they put up onto the overhead shelves. "Everyone's here now," Peter announced, standing.

"Splendid," Freddie said. He took my hand and led me to the middle of the plane, where everyone could see.

"Alright, dear ladies, have a look this way, thank you," Freddie stated. All the heads, even those of the two stewardesses, turned toward us. 

"I've told you where we're going, but I haven't told you why," Freddie began.

"It's Vegas, there's no need for why," Peter murmured slyly.

"Oh, but there is. Ours is a mission."

Elton walked toward the bar. "I'm still listening."

Freddie continued, "Here, we have Miss Eve Dubroc, a damsel in distress, and we good knights of the Round Table are here to help her. Her fiance, Mark Zuckerberg, awaits her in Las Vegas, and it's up to us to get her there."

I bit my lip when he said my "fiance's" name, trying not to laugh. That so far was indeed the most surreal part of this developing fiasco. Deep down I knew things would only get more surreal once we lifted off.

He went on, "I don't have to tell you it's Vegas, and that we're also going for a good time. Still, Eve is not our entertainment, she is our guest of honor. Treat her like one. There's plenty of fun what's here and waiting for us."

"You got it, Freddie," Peter laughed. "As long as I get to be Sir Galahad."

"F---, Straker, that's what I was going to say," Elton joked.

_Don't worry, Sir Elton, you'll be a real knight before long. Patience._

Everyone agreed in one form or another, trading jokes about taking knight names. I couldn't help feeling a little grateful to Freddie for clearing the air on that. True, I was on a plane full of guys who were much more attracted to the Y-chromosome, but on a private party plane, anything goes. _I dub thee Sir Lancelot, Freddie_.

"Then I suppose we're ready, eh, girls?" Freddie turned to the stewardesses.

They grinned flirtatiously and winked. "Whenever you are," the more rubenesque one crowed. We all gave the thumbs up, and they sauntered toward the front to notify the pilot.

"Hey, wait. Where's Rudy?" I asked.

It was then the intercom crackled to life, and a familiar gruff voice spoke. Speak of the devil. "Hello, this is your pilot Rudy Barnes speaking, strap yourselves down. Liftoff in five."

"Rudy's flying this thing?" I gasped.

"Quite the jack of all trades, isn't he? We're lucky to have him. Got the funniest looks when I said I wanted this one. They tried talking me out of it. Silly things."

The engines roared to life, then. A few seconds later the wheels began turning under us as the Starship rolled toward the takeoff lane. We all moved to the front of the plane, where a few airplane seats still remained, and buckled ourselves in. Freddie sat down next to me, planting a kiss on my cheek as he did so.

Suddenly a really bad joke hit me. I had to. I mused aloud, "Such a shame Mary couldn't come."

Freddie's brows shot up. "Why's that?"

"Because then we could honestly say that among others, Peter, Paul, and Mary left on a jet plane."

Freddie closed his eyes and hung his head, chortling. "Oh, that was putrid."

"I know." My face turned bright red and I laughed into my hand. I was getting so excited. "Our mission, should we choose to accept it-"

"I think we're committed now, darling," Freddie said.

But I went on, "-Is to illegally get a girl across the Atlantic into Sin City and come back with a fake marriage license."

One of the strange men sitting in front of us, the one I would come to know as John ( _Yet another John! Too many English Johns!_ ) Holmes, smiled. "What could possibly go wrong?"

I had an idea. I whipped out the Magic Mirror one more time, and noodled around the movie playlist for THE song.

"What are you doing?" Freddie asked. 

"It's not official yet. We need this." I looked behind me to see Elton John loftily sipping a cocktail, and Paul and Peter across the aisle snickering about something. It wasn't time yet. We needed to start the liftoff before I could play this. Only then.

A couple more minutes, and the plane started rocketing across the runway. It was time.

Everyone began to laugh, the only one thinking to ask where the music was coming from being Paul. "What the f--- is that?" he cried.

But I was staring out the window as Heathrow whirled past, not listening to anything but the music. I gave a loud whoop, so completely jazzed and completely unprepared for what lay ahead of us. Before too long, the _Starship_ lifted off the ground, and we began to tilt into the air. 

"Let's do this!" I shouted. A couple of people whooped back in response. 

"Are you ever going to show me how that thing works?" Freddie hissed into my ear.

"Not yet," I sang. "I've got sixty hours to think it over."

"Of course you do," Freddie muttered, but with a smile at the corners of his mouth.

The airport grew smaller and smaller as we soared into the atmosphere. So began another life-changing adventure.

So began Mission: Implausible.

 

 


	35. All Up in the Air

**_Day 8: Well, how do I put this. I guess bluntly is the only way. I woke up in bed next to Freddie, but he promised me (whatever that means) we didn't do "it". Apparently he made a bet with Mr. Roger Taylor to see which of the two could get to me first, so he and I are not on very good terms, he just doesn't know it yet. I'm on a private jet plane called the Starship. Freddie's decided we need to go to Las Vegas because I made the mistake of saying I was something I'm not. We've been on the plane for about five hours now, three more to go until we stop at New York._ **

**_This jet has everything. There's a kitchen in which the stewardesses, Lucy and Belinda (but who are currently going by Lulu and Belle because someone, I think either Straker or John Holmes, Elton's PA- yes, I said Elton, and I do mean Elton John, and no, I'm not high, not right now- told them those names suited them better), have prepared some very nice munchies for us. Lulu's the one I like; she's a little more strait-laced than her partner, and she's a good old-fashioned American.  Who'd have thought.  
_ **

**_But more about the plane.  There's a shower room, a bedroom, a TV, a fully stocked bar, and an electric Hammond organ right next to it (makes things very convenient for our musical party people). And there's a fireplace. I don't know why a plane needs a fireplace, but we have a fireplace. Whatever._ **

**_Rudy's actually not flying the plane by himself, he was just joshing around (I didn't know he had it in him to josh). Our pilot's name is Kelly. Rudy does have a pilot's license, though, so he's acting as copilot. I guess it's Captain Kelly and First Officer Barnes. They've just switched now; Rudy's taken over for -_ **

From behind the cockpit doorI heard another one of Peter's loud cackles.Even over the grinding of the engines, he was audible. I was sitting behind the two flyboys, Rudy and the captain. I'd been going back and forth between the passenger area and the cockpit, finding refuge with Freddie's silent driver whenever things in the back started becoming a little odd. Keep in mind what was stocked aboard the _Starship_ , add in the alcohol, cocaine (courtesy of Paul and Jack Kristenhoffer, Peter's friend), two very able and willing floozy stewardesses, and the wild passengers themselves- and I'll let you decide what "odd" means.

Right now, though, the passengers had relatively settled down. The three divas- Peter, Elton, and Freddie- had been tipsily caterwauling at the Hammond organ for the last half hour, each trying to outdo the other two. I hadn't minded for the first fifteen minutes, in fact enjoyed the star-studded serenade. Several times Elton waved his hand, taking requests on a first come, first serve basis. Which, since Lulu was in and out of her station and Belle was in the back bedroom "serving" Kristenhoffer and Paul was keeping an unwavering eye on Freddie, meant I monopolized the market.

"O-Bla-Di!" I would request, and Elton would crash right into it, and laughingly the boys would sing the Beatles' story of Desmond and Molly. It was so contagious, I had to sing along. I once tried sidling up next to the trio to at least be closer to the action. But Pudding Face rose from his seat almost immediately and wormed between me and the rest of them. I don't know why he saw me as such a threat to Freddie, even then when I was anything but his biggest fan.

And then there was the matter of that darn Straker. Don't get me wrong, Peter had a beautiful, rich tenor voice. A true, underappreciated talent. The only problem was, he seemed convinced that he was a flat first soprano. He started freestyle warbling in his falsetto; then, not to be outshone, Freddie let rip, turning his own higher notes on full blast; and Elton decided to throw both of them for a loop and did his best bullfrog bass before joining them in the screech fest. Peter Straker did _not_ equal Montserrat Caballe- but rather than tell him that, I just slipped off to the cockpit for the seventh time, and caught up on my journal. I had already written what I remembered from yesterday, now I simply had to catch up on today's happenings and a few NFOs for the flavor.

**_NFOs: When in the company of his friends, Freddie is a very different person than he is with me or even the band. He's more than a loose cannon- he's, he's just loose. He's flubber. Anything and everything, that's the way he rolls. His friends don't provide much of a moral support, moral center, to be sure- and if they did, it is very likely Freddie would not wish to have them as friends. Moral centers bore him. I bore him. Yet he expects everyone here to treat me like a lady, and I appreciate that, but what does he care what they do to me? He keeps picking on me about how I go around barefoot all the time, yet the first thing he did once we could get up and walk around the plane was take his shoes off. Bare feet for me, but not for thee. He's so inconsistent and so moody. It drives me crazy.  
_ **

**_Also: I don't think Freddie's so much as looked at me since the drinks started flowing. Not that I want him to, but I can't help noticing. I suppose it's true, then. I'm a tool. Even so, this is an awful lot of trouble to go through to convince Roger. Does he want out of the bet that badly? Or am I just a good enough excuse to go party across the pond? See, there's no way I can believe now. I have no choice but to question him. I don't know what to do._ **

I found myself humming that Kelly Clarkson song again. I could have played the song from my phone, but one, it was at half power and I was trying to save the juice for an emergency, and two, it wasn't in my playlist. Funny how that song popped into my head every time I was in limbo about Freddie. I'm not even a fan of hers, but that song fit him so perfectly, and so neatly matched my mixed up feelings about him.

(What song was it? Oh, but that's not for another few days. Believe me, it becomes very important later on, even more important than the Mercurena, which is saying something. You'll see. Stay tuned.)

"Why do you keep running in here?" Rudy murmured, turning to look at me. "You've got the whole jet but you want the cockpit."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was bothering you," I said, quickly getting up.

"You're not," Rudy answered. "I just wondered why you'd spend almost all your time up here, when Freddie and the rest are all having a time back there."

"It's the view," I sighed. "It's peaceful up here. Just the sky, just you and Captain Kelly, nobody's doing anything nasty, nobody's being loud. It's just nice."

"Oh." Rudy turned back to the controls, facing the clear blue in front of us. "You can stay. I just don't know why you would. It's a lovely pl-"  
  
Suddenly we heard a loud grating, rattling sound. It came from the direction of the engines. Rudy's brows knit with concern, and in very British glibness he said to himself, "That doesn't sound quite right."

The rattling continued for about half a minute before fading away again. To my surprise, the boys had hushed; they heard it too. Just out of curiosity, I stepped back into the passenger area to see what they were doing.

Peter seemed unfazed as he made yet another trip to the bar; I couldn't see Elton's expression due to his tinted glasses, but he came off as comfortably numb as well. The stewardesses emerged from their respective locations, Belle of course draped heavily over Kristenhoffer, all three laughing. Paul Prenter was Paul Prenter. But Freddie looked pale, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he sat cross-legged on the wall bench.

"What was that?" Freddie said when I came out, his voice tight. "Sounded like the engine."

I shrugged. "Maybe it was."

He scoffed, "You don't know?" 

"No."

"We're going to crash, obviously, or else they'd tell us," Peter sang, lifting his glass. "Here's to our memory."

"Shut up, you twat," Freddie muttered. He clenched his hands harder.

I drew nearer with growing interest. _What's this? Is Freddie afraid of flying?_ "It was just a little rattle, Freddie, nothing to worry about," I said.

"How do you know?"

"I'm guessing, but it's a good guess-"

"Well, for all the time you've spent up there, you ought to be an expert by now. Is it that they don't talk to each other or you just don't listen?"

"If you feel so strongly about it, why don't you ask them yourself?" I retorted, then went back to the cockpit. _I am not in the mood for another tiff, dear sir.  
_

I closed the door behind me and held the knob, made sure Freddie wasn't lurking behind me to yank it open and drag me back in so we could squabble with a clearly one-sided audience. I sat myself in my seat, but I drew the buckle over my lap just in case and fastened it. _One of the worst things about Rudy is also one of the best: he doesn't say much. That's good enough for me. I think I'll just stay up here the rest of the trip._

So I did. I sat there, legs stretched out in front of me, my hand fiddling absently with my tracker which still hung dead but faithful round my neck. The party kept on behind me. Freddie eventually worked out of his little tantrum, according to the sound of his laughter through the door after ten minutes or so. _  
_

_He's impossible. How I had been so arrogant as to think I, an amateur stripling not even out of university, could get a good look at his soul, is beyond me. I'm right back where I started.  
_

And then, in careless frustration, I opened my journal and wrote a miscellaneous comment in the margins right under the "NFO" tab:

**_What a waste of time. What a waste of life._ **

I swear, with God as my witness, that I wasn't talking about Freddie.  I was referring to myself, and my future, and how I was stuck forever ( _Hello, Reality, it's about time you showed up_ ) in a world where I didn't legally exist. I should have clarified- or at least written it anywhere but there. 

But anyway.

After a little while, I dozed off, the airplane noise lulling me to sleep. I figured this late in the day, I would go free, and have no scary earthquake dreams. But even at thirty thousand feet, I wasn't safe from the nightmare. On the contrary, it was easily the most vivid, most horrifying version yet.

Again, in the swirling magenta, it started with Freddie and me together, but a few things had altered. A few important things. Now neither of us were wearing any clothes, every aspect of Freddie's form etched out in perfect detail- and instead of holding my wrists and leading me through the fog, now he led me along only part of the way before roughly pulling me down onto the hard, rocky ground and pinning my shoulders down against the dry earth. He licked his lips, began to sigh. This was enough to make me start thrashing about, both in my dream and in real time, but I couldn't wake myself up. 

And then he was on top of me. The earth split in half all around us, and I started shouting in fear and in protest but he paid no heed. One last time I cried out before his face leaned in closer than before, and I stared into the coals-not their usual ebony glow but a flat, cold, horrible red- that drooped closed as his lips met mine before further desecrating my neck, and his hands, his beautiful hands were everywhere. Over and over the caresses came- long, sinful, and rough, as though he knew he could possibly be hurting me and didn't care- and his body pressed even closer upon mine until I could barely breathe; but now I wasn't fighting any longer and my arms had slipped tightly around his damp, heaving chest, and he came coarsely open-mouthed to me, this time for my breast.

It was then the rift split us apart- by some great magic, considering our positions, but it happened. And just before he flew over the cliff, so did the Relic, which had been laying by my side. I'd been so distracted by his savage foreplay I hadn't even noticed the Relic was right there, waiting for me to take it. Over they both sailed, in opposite directions, and just as I reached out-

"Eve?" Someone put their hand on my knee.

"GAAAAH!" I screamed, eyes snapping open. I tried leaping out of my seat but the fastened belt took the wind out of those sails immediately. With an attempt at calm I unbuckled the belt, but I was still completely freaked. _What was that? What the EFFING HELL was that?_

This thought darted through my brain at lightning speed: _Wish fulfillment.  
_

I visibly cringed, then covered my face.But, strangely enough, I didn't bother to convince myself otherwise.  I couldn't help my physicality.  That wasn't my area.

Captain Kelly was back at the helm.  Rudy was staring at me with a Well-she's-finally-flipped look. Maybe I had. "We're about to land," he managed.

"Yes!" I punched the air with both fists, then let them fall into my lap again.  "That means I go back in the box, doesn't it?"

Rudy shrugged.  "Or you could just stay on the plane and not get off."

"That's an idea," I remarked.  "I think I'd rather do that."

But still, I put my hand on the cockpit door, prayed I wouldn't see anything horrible on the other side, then opened it.

Freddie was gazing at Lulu, who was, for some reason, out of her blue stewardess uniform.  Instead, she wore one of my vest/ button down combos and my old blue jeans, smiling dazzlingly at him.  _What's she doing in my clothes?_

Freddie turned and put out his hand to receive me.  In the other hand he held cut up pieces of a Polaroid.  Well, at least he was in a better mood now.  "Ah, Evie!  You're back.  Dear, will you do something for me?"

I answered, "That depends."

"Lulu's trying on your clothes to see if they fit, won't you go in the bedroom there and put on hers?"

I blinked.  "Why?  Are we playing dress-up or something?"

"Sort of.  Now go on."

I didn't move.  This sounded so fishy.  But I knew how far a flat "no" would get me, so I said, "I ought to be getting back into my trunk-"

"First, the uniform, darling.  Thank you."

Obediently, then, I marched into the now unoccupied bedroom, edging my way around the rumpled bed and daintily slipping out of my clothes.  Placing my shirt and skirt on the very foot of the bed (ugh, I didn't want to know), I stepped into Lulu's stewardess attire.  All I needed to do was pin my hair up and I'd look like a PanAm trainee.

I emerged.  "Okay, I'm wearing it, now will someone please tell me what this is all about?"

"Everyone, sit back down and brace yourselves, we're landing in t-minus two minutes," Captain Kelly said over the intercom.  Immediately Lulu took a window seat and buckled up.

"Would you look at that, Sharon," Freddie crooned, sauntering towards the seats.  "She and Eve are practically the same size."

"Fascinating," Elton replied dryly before dragging on a cigarette. "They could be twins."

I laughed.  Lulu had deep-set gray eyes and short, Dorothy Hamill-styled red hair framing her heart-shaped face.  She and I looked nothing alike, not while my long brown locks, square jaw, and hazel bug eyes had anything to say about it.

When I started to take my seat across the aisle from Freddie, who was sitting next to Peter, he cried, "My dear, what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, right, sorry, back to the box-"

"What box?"

"The box I came in on."

"You're not getting back in there, the customs people will find you."

I huffed.  "Why didn't this occur to you before?"

"The vodka, of course.  But that doesn't matter now.  You belong up there with Belle!"

"Say wh-"

"No questions, just do it!"

I did it.  I sat next to rosy-cheeked Belle and strapped myself down, feeling more and more confused by the second.  As I passed Freddie, he pushed a leather-bound booklet into my hand.  Only after I was secured did I inspect it.  The item was dark green, with a seal emblazoned in gold stamped on its front.  The words above and below this seal read, "Passport: United States of America."

"And, uh, darling, almost forgot: don't forget to say your name is Lucy."

" _What?!_ " I cried, and might have said more but the plane touched down too quickly. The ground rolled noisily beneath the wheels, gradually slowing as we trundled along.  The engine again started making some strange, almost wheezing noises, but since we were on the ground nobody paid any attention.

I looked at the inside to find the name scrawled there as being Lucy Leppert, but the image beside the name was my own.  But it wasn't just any picture; it was the very same picture Freddie had taken yesterday in the bathroom- the one where I looked so ugly and so frazzled.  Therefore, it was the perfect Passport ID picture, which he had cropped and used to painstakingly cover Lucy's.  

He was sneaking me into the States disguised as a stewardess.  The hits just kept on coming.

The plane itself pulled to a stop.  Amid playful "yays" I asked, "What's Lulu going to do?"

She responded, "Oh, I'm going home to Connecticut.  There's an umbrella and a towel and a spot on the beach all with my name on them.  I'll take the Passport back right before I leave."

My heart fluttered.  "Freddie, this is so illegal!" 

"It's only illegal if you get caught," Peter chimed in.  I could almost hear the wink.  

"And we won't get caught," Freddie said.  "Besides, we're just passing through.  This is all a 'just in case' thing."

"I'm afraid it's more than that," Rudy announced, exiting the cockpit as we unbuckled.  

Jack and John traded glances.  "What do you mean?" Freddie asked.

"I don't think we're going to want to be stuck another straight four hours aboard this big tin can.  Before lifting back off, that is."

Elton looked aghast.  "Four hours?"

An annoyed grumbling arose from the sparsely filled passenger seats.  "Why the f--- can't we just fill up and go?" Freddie demanded.

"The captain's worried about the plane.  He's going to have someone look at the engine while we're here, make sure nothing's wrong.  Apparently the process takes anywhere from two to four hours, if a man does the job right."

"Four hours," Freddie repeated, letting Rudy's words soak in.  He weighed the pros and cons of following Captain Kelly's words, or just letting hubris take hold and flying out anyway, perhaps into death.  

He sighed.  "Well, that settles it.  Sorry, Eve, scratch the 'just in case,' yes, we're getting off for a while. That means you too."

"Must I?"

"We have four hours to kill in New York City, and you want to sit around on a f---ing jet you've been sitting around on all day?"

"Well, when you put it THAT way..."

And so we all piled off the plane, I with a change of clothes in my arms.  I'd never get past customs, I just knew.  This was so silly. Two people with the name Lucy Leppert on the same plane were bound to make people suspicious.  

But still, by now I knew better than to underestimate Freddie.

 


	36. Han Shot First

I don't think I have to tell you that our entire entourage made it out of JFK International without one of us being stopped, carted off by airport security for questioning, and tried for unauthorized entry into the States. Otherwise this chapter would be called something like "Yeah, Freddie Was Wrong This Time" or "It's No Fun Being an Illegal Alien" (thank you, Genesis- yes, that's an actual song, look it up). But as you can see, the title has nothing to do with the airport, or customs, or the inconvenience of United States law enforcement. So yes, we pulled it off.

Here's the short version:

We'd barely stepped off the plane when off in the distance here came two customs officials, marching in lock step across the runway.

"What, is our cover blown already?" I whispered.

"No, this is normal, they do this with private planes," Elton whispered back.

The officials boarded the Starship before looking at our Passports, in fact didn't even look at us as they passed. I had the gall to wonder if we'd taken all these precautions for nothing.

"You can come back up here, you know," said the paunchy one in a rather strident Brooklyn voice. I'd grown so accustomed to Freddie's silky smooth British accent that the sound of a New Yorker's voice hit my ears as rather unfamiliar. It was about half-past three in the afternoon and the sun was brutal; since we were so invited, and we apparently didn't have to go through the public customs line, we went back inside the plane.

Again I whispered, "What are they-"

"Snooping around for naughty stuff, of course. Shh," Peter hissed sharply. I sniffed. _Jerk. I wasn't even talking to you._

Despite all the careless references to "blow" I'd heard over the past eight hours, the gentleman finished searching after two minutes and gave us a clean bill of health. I looked down at my shoes and tried not to bite my lip. Listlessly I straightened Lucy's blue pencil skirt over my legs. _Wonder where they put it._

The younger, leaner fellow approached us now and asked to see our Passports. Peter went first. Nervously I opened Lulu's Passport, ran my finger over the picture and prayed he wouldn't see anything unusual.

When he finally came around to me, with a steady hand I passed my "papers" over. He looked me over, then down at Lucy Leppert's Passport. His brows rose. I swallowed, preparing for the worst.

"Looks good," he said aloud, and handed it back. I tried not to take a deep sigh of relief. _Whoa._

Someone tapped my shoulder when he wasn't looking and subtly put out their hand. I placed the Passport into Freddie's palm, who passed it back to Lulu so she could peel away my picture and reveal her own.

This would be the biggest challenge. Two Lucys. It would have to be close.

The official inspected Freddie's, then Rudy's, Jack's, Paul's, and John's.

Then the customs agent took a look at Elton's Passport, and his eyes became wide with recognition.

"Oh, my God," he gasped. "Elton John! Oh, my G- this is- this is unbelievable!"

Ladies and gentlemen, our hard-faced, businesslike customs agent Jake Freeling melted into an Elton John fanboy right before our very eyes. I wondered if Freddie felt gypped, not being recognized by yet another American- and a New Yorker at that. When I turned to see, I saw that clever smirk about his lips. He winked at me, and I realized he'd been counting on this.

**_NFO: Not so spontaneous as to be unable to craft an impressively complicated plan. This guy is smarter than he gives himself credit for._ **

Officer Freeling couldn't contain himself. "I have all your albums, I've seen all your Garden concerts, I was there last time you came! Did you see me? I-"

"May I have the Passport back, love?" Elton murmured.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. But as I was saying, I was in the second row, I gotta say, that song 'Daniel' just gets me every time, and when you did it that night-"

Lucy stuck her Passport in front of Freeling, who glanced at it and nodded impatiently, "Yes, you're fine, you're fine. Here." He passed it back. "But, say, I know you get this a lot, but could I please have your autograph?"

So Elton John asked somebody for a scrap of paper, which he promptly signed. _Don't lose that, Mr. Freeling. It'll go for at least five hundred bucks on eBay._

Belinda (Belle) went last without trouble, as Freeling continued frothing at the mouth. And before I knew it, the customs/immigration guys filed on down the ramp ("What's the matter with you?" we heard the paunchy one say to Freeling, who barely touched the ground with each step) and headed back to their stations. Simple as that.

I blinked. It just felt too easy. But there we were, nudging and high-fiving each other. This was before TSA, after all. No screenings, no full body pat-downs, not even for us international delinquents. My, how things have just turned upside down the past twenty years. It was a simpler time.

But I was just happy not to get caught. Lucy and I hugged and laughed, and we quickly changed clothes again so she could hurry back to Connecticut and I could prepare myself for whatever madcap craziness awaited us in the Big Apple.

*********************************************************************************************

It was truly mind-blowing, rushing down the road alongside cars that were forty plus years old where I came from. And when the pre-Trump New York skyline loomed before us as we rode into Manhattan, I felt a twinge of homesickness. Ah, America. New York wasn't Dallas, but it was closer to home than London.

But the most ethereal feelings only struck when I laid eyes on the huge, magnificent twin towers reaching higher into the air than any other building, planted firmly in the place we now call Ground Zero. I gasped and covered my mouth, knowing I would have to stop there today just to make sure my eyes were telling the truth.

All seven of us (Jack Kristenhoffer went off on his own; apparently he was only going as far as New York City to talk with some big shot Broadway director about a show) were shuttled by limo into Times Square. We had the option of a police escort, but Freddie and Elton both waved it off, saying the police would only "make a scene" and the whole purpose of this trip was to be kept as secret as possible. So today, we were all just typical Manhattan tourists.

First move was to get pounds exchanged for dollars, which luckily only took about fifteen minutes. That gave us about three hours and thirty minutes to go wild before we had to be back at the airport. We all agreed to meet back in front of the currency exchange at seven o' clock sharp, so we could all ride back together.

"I know this fantastic place," Elton was saying as we walked out of the tiny exchange agency. "I found it when I was here a few weeks or so ago. Best French cuisine in the world, bar none."

It sounded like a brilliant idea to everyone except John Holmes, who was hungrily eyeing the nearby X-rated theaters that popped up between every other building. The men laughed and made jokes about "Randy John," effectively winning over the poor (but, yes, randy) fellow by saying "We'll head there later, all right?"

So the guys piled into the limo's back seat, facing each other. And I was just about to reach for the front door handle to slip in next to the chauffeur, when the car pulled away from the curb and into traffic.

I blinked. _Wait, what?_

I ran along the sidewalk shouting "Hey, wait! You-" But they kept driving through the congested streets, totally deaf to my cries.

I stood there, alone.

"They left me," I exclaimed, then shouted louder, "He left me!"

I suppose they thought I would be in the way, I thought to myself. The anxiety returned, but in greater waves than on the Starship. _They'll be back at seven, right? Right. So for the next three and a half hours, I'm all alone. Freddie left me here. I can't believe this. You bastard._

But I remembered, he really didn't owe me his protection-or his attention. That didn't keep me from fuming with anger. It never feels good to be deserted- and to be deserted in the middle of the 1970's Times Square doesn't help.

Times Square is not what it used to be. Thank God. Back then, especially in the mid to late 70's, the bright shining pearl of Manhattan had reached its true nadir. There were homeless on the streets, panhandlers on the corners, prostitutes on the sidewalk. Porn shops filled the old theaters, X-rated movies advertised themselves shamelessly. No matter where I looked, sex, poverty, and debauchery lurked.

But Freddie wasn't there to make decisions for me now. It was all down to me. I was partially glad, mostly hurt. I knew he didn't care for me, but did he really have to make it so blatantly obvious yet again?

I still had my backpack with me- I never went anywhere anymore without it. I found myself a glass telephone booth (sweet nostalgia) and rummaged around to see if I had anything of use.

God favors the foolish. And I am foolish. When I reached into an old, forgotten flap, my fingers grazed against a cottony kind of paper. My heart leaped as I drew out a few crumpled one dollar bills. I had seen the money passed between my compa- er, deserters; while twenties and tens had indeed evolved through the decades, the Washingtons had not changed a bit save the teeny-tiny mint date by his head that nobody looked at.

I counted my money. I had twelve dollars. In the seventies, that could last all day. I was going to be all right. _I just hope those jerk-offs remember to come get me. Or else I'm screwed._

So I exited the telephone booth with a new spring in my step, bought a hot dog from the vendor nearby, who asked for one dollar. Not too bad a feast for one dollar.

As I turned from the hot dog man, I had a strange notion that I was being watched. But I kept walking, refusing to look behind me. My stomach knotted further, and the half-eaten hot dog suddenly was no longer appetizing.

I sighed aloud, trying to keep my mind on other, more important things. _There's got to be something I can do around here. It's New York, for crying out loud. I have eleven dollars left. Is there anything that doesn't involve sexual pleasure for less than five?_

I answered my own question in the next minute. As I rounded the corner, turning on Broadway itself, I found a theater. Over its entrance the marquis showed the title of a film. My fears shrank. They didn't vanish, but they did lessen some. My eyes widened as I stared at the title. I took a few running steps then stopped abruptly in my tracks again. _Oh, my gosh, it couldn't be. But it is after all 1977, did it really just come ou-_

Someone rammed into me from behind. "Oof!"

I turned and automatically apologized, "Oh, I'm sor-" Then I looked up into the tan, gaunt face with the hooded eyes and elegant nose and sharp chin.

I blinked. "Freddie?"

"Hullo," he sang, favoring me with a brilliant smile and bowing theatrically.

My mouth went dry. Once again, he'd caught me utterly off guard. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I'm following you, goose. Hope you don't mind."

"But I thought you went off with your friends- did they leave you behind too?"

"No."

"Are they here?"

Freddie shrugged. "God knows where they went off to. I don't care."

"But- but- you were in the limo! I saw you get in!"

"I also got out."

"When?"

"When I saw you running after us, of course!"

"You mean you made them stop?"

"No."

"Then-"

"Darling, if I have to spell it out for you, I will. We were pulling away, you started running, I saw you, tried to stop the car, nobody listened, so I just opened the door and hopped out. And I've been following you this whole time. Aren't you lucky."

I stared at him, then covered my face. "Oh, no. It's happening again."

Freddie's smile faltered. "What?"

I huffed. "Freddie, you don't have to babysit me, okay? Why didn't you go off with your friends, I can handle myself for three hours. I'm sorry."

His eyes turned cold. "No, _I'm_ sorry."

"Why?"

"Look, darling, if you just don't want me around, f---ing come out and say so." With that, he whirled and stomped the other way.

"Wait!" I said before I could stop myself. He stopped and turned around. "I don't- um, I don't not want you around, I just wasn't expecting you to pop up behind me like some jack-in-the-box."

"Eve, you've been avoiding me ever since we got on the plane. Eight f---ing hours, I barely saw you. Every chance you got, you'd trip on up front so you wouldn't have to burden yourself with the sight of me-"

"No, no, that had nothing to do with you, I didn't want to spoil the fun," I answered. "You know what a rotten goody two-shoes I am."

"Then why so many cold looks? Why the cold shoulder? Why do you keep edging away from me- see, you're doing it now!"

I stood still, realizing I was indeed backing away from him, holding my hot dog close to me as if he was about to reach out and grab it. "I just don't want to get in the way! You don't have to pretend to like me, Freddie, I know the truth now, so treat me accordingly."

_Liar. It mattered two minutes ago. But he doesn't need to know that._

But these words seemed to actually bite into Freddie. His dark eyes dimmed, his mouth tightened. Silently he reached out and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Did it ever occur to you I might actually enjoy spending time with you?" he said softly.

I felt myself melting as I looked into his face. Already the mask was slipping. "Well, um- no, it hadn't. Especially not since-"

"Listen to me," he cut in. I was quiet. "I started regretting ever taking that bet almost immediately after the fact. I'm doing this to get myself out of it. I want him to leave off. Both of us. And if this is what it takes, then here we are.

"I am so sorry. I never should have been so careless. You deserve better- better than an idiot tart like me. I know. And that's why- all I'm asking is for your forgiveness."

I don't know how long I stood there, letting him hold me, gazing into those dear eyes. My anger faded, and a wish to grant him complete absolution overcame me. People were staring, but I didn't notice. The rest of the world slunk away, and we two stood alone on the sidewalk in the busiest city in America. The power this man had over me was astonishing- and it still had only begun.

Suddenly I smiled, feeling like chains had fallen from my wrists. "Yes, I forgive you... you jackass."

Freddie laughed and put his arms around me. "That's more like it!"

I too wrapped my arms around his back, careful not to let the mustard from the hot dog get on his shirt. That was wrath I had no wish to incur, certainly not now.

He pulled away, eyes shining into mine. "Thank you, angel. I don't like us being on the outs."

That was the first but by no means the last time he called me "angel," and I had yet to know what he really meant in saying it.

In seconds we were back to normal. "So! Let me see what there is to do round here," he thundered. "Stick with me, honey, I know this place like the back of my hand."

"But you don't know where your friends went?"

"I don't care. That's the difference. I'm not in a French food mood anyhow. So, um-" Suddenly Freddie stopped, patted his hip and back pockets. His eyes bugged out. Lifting his foot, he looked about to take off his shoes when he stopped and shook his head.

I watched this whole performance, confused. "What is it?"

He turned to me and smiled a bit unpleasantly. "Bloody f---ing hell."

"What's wrong?"

Freddie stood still a moment, then collapsed into laughter. "Rudy," he managed, "he's got all the money."

"What?"

"I gave the money to him to hold on to! I'm flat broke, dear." He laughed, but he sounded a little anxious all the same.

I patted his shoulder. "We'll survive."

"On what?" he snapped.

"We got eleven dollars, calm down." I flashed the wad of ones in front of him.

He stared in awe. "Where-?"

"I just had them."

"Just happened to have money on you. Right."

"I did! Not much, but it's something."

"Great. We can buy a cab ride."

"Don't be so glum, Mr. Big Spender. We can do a lot with eleven dollars."

"Like what?"

"Oh, that." I pointed at the theater I'd gotten so excited about.

Freddie squinted at the lettering over our heads. "That's an odd title."

"It's supposed to be really good. Sci-fi fantasy thing. No sex, though, sorry."

He shot me a little sidelong glance. "Thanks for telling me, now I won't be disappointed."

"Wanna see it?"

"Hey, I'm game if you are. Anyway, you've got the money, so you call the shots."

"I guess I do. Wow, this is weird." I smiled at him. "You'll see, you can have the best of times on less than twenty bucks."

'I thought the best things in life were free."

"They are."

"Good. Then this is no charge." Freddie bent toward me then and kissed my lips. "Sorry, just needed that."

I laughed, my cheeks turning pink. "Come on, you silly man." So, throwing away my food, I put my arm in his and we strolled toward the Loews Astor Theater, knowing I would never see _Star Wars_ the same way again.


	37. Birdman's Eye View: It's Alive!

"Shit."

This I mutter under my breath.  I'm feeling more than a little pessimistic as I look at the little golden chip.  It's all cleaned off now, and dry, but still hardly in fair shape.  The scratches and teeth marks are still there.  It looks like someone put it under an army tank and drove back and forth over it a couple of times.  Of all the things my kid had to swallow, he chose this.

Pardon the cloudy disposition.  I've been in a rather poor mood since this morning.  Freddie didn't come in the studio at all today, so it was just us three: Brian, Roger, and myself.  

Since Brian the Bossy Boots (oh, did I say that out loud? I'm terribly sorry) is basically top banana when Freddie is absent, we wound up doing mostly what he wanted to do.  Roger of course sounded his usual protests about the speed of the songs (Brian tends to slow songs down while Roger prefers to speed them up; it is a constant uphill battle between these two, even though they are so obviously thick as thieves), but Brian generally got his way. 

We didn't really accomplish much, though.  Brian's very cerebral, thinks things through too much; he's painstakingly thorough with his songs.  So we actually did mostly technical things today, like expanding the stomps we recorded for "We Will Rock You," Brian using some heady physics formula to decide how many times we ought to overlay the man-made thunder and get a convincing arena sound to it.  

Whether we like to admit it or not, there are really two central minds in this band -Freddie and Brian- and several times it's happened that we wind up breaking down into two teams: Brian and Roger vs. Freddie and myself.  And these two minds couldn't be any more different, especially in the way they work.  Freddie's very much a perfectionist in his own right, but he moves quickly so as to not lose interest in the song- which happens very fast. Trust me. 

But don't misunderstand.  Roger and I are not yes men.  None of us are.  Typically, meaning about seventy-five percent of the time, all four of our voices ring equally loud, and we all fight tooth and nail when it means something to us as individual people.

I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms out behind me. I've been dwelling on this project of mine all day. I wish Freddie had come in even for just the last hour.  According to Roger, he had some kind of errand to run today.  I don't know what kind of errand takes all day to run.  If you ask me, Freddie hadn't any "errands" to run at all; I think both he and Eve simply took a while getting over last night.  

My mind wanders back to last night's goings-on, from that almost-fistfight at the Heatwave to that tender, unguarded moment between plastered Freddie and his strung-out "stray kitten."  What a funny thing to call someone.  Stray kitten.  But somehow, it does suit her.  

There was something happening.  I had seen the looks in their eyes.  Only a blind fool could have overlooked it.  It seemed real to me, not that I'm any expert.  But there was a feeling, an aura, that vaguely reminded me of the way Freddie used to look at Mary whenever the rest of Queen came over to their old one-room flat, or when she would on occasion drop by the studio to visit us.  

Was that only a couple of years ago?  My God!  So much has changed!  

But Eve is so different from Mary, I realize.  True, they're both sweet, with gentle smiles and soft low voices.  But Eve isn't as calm, nor is she quite as accommodating.  Not that that's a bad thing, necessarily.  I don't suppose that "accommodating" is even really the proper word.  Eve just doesn't take any crap.

Of course.  That's the difference.  Eve bites back.  She calls his bluff.  I don't know the extent of Freddie's and Mary's relationship, all I know is what I happen to see in passing.  But I'm fairly sure Mary put up with some interesting stuff, and likely still does.  Eve isn't the kind to tolerate even a fraction of it.  I wonder if it's this challenge what draws Freddie to Eve, or acts as a buffer between them.

I shrug to myself and rub my eyes.  Veronica walks in and puts her arms around me from behind.  "Why don't you leave this for tonight, you just got home and it's late," she whispers.

 

"I just have to put this damn thing back together," I tell her.  "I'll see if it works tomorrow morning."

Veronica nods and massages my shoulders.  "How are you going to do that?"

"I don't have the first clue."

"Can I get you anything?"

"The hair of the dog that bit me."

She laughs.  "Beer or gin?"

"Whatever's colder."

"That'll be beer.  Just a moment."  She disappears into the kitchen.

I sigh and look back down at this mess Freddie called the Relic.  Poor Robert.  He didn't know any better.  The little nipper's scarcely two, how could he?

Veronica sets the bottle of beer down on the desk. With a hearty swig, I breathe deeply and begin rebuilding the monster.  I slide the chip into a little slot, fit the big square battery over it.   The screen is still cracked, but there's little I can do about that; I can't exactly go find a replacement.  The case pieces that split right in half I've soldered together, so as I snap things more and more into place, it winds up looking like a miniature Frankenstein's creature complete with stitches.  

Before too long the device is reassembled, and it sits there in front of me.  The cover is over the keypad- it's a sliding thing that pops down if you push a button on the side- a feature which startled me the first time I did it.  The word 'NOKIA' is the only part I find anywhere familiar.  Before now, I was pretty sure it was some kind of phone; the keypad gave that much away.  But it's so small, and there's no cord.  Yet it is Eve's "Passport," Freddie said.  How the hell is this supposed to work?

So many buttons, so little explanation about what they're for.  Just to do it, I press the green button just below the screen.  Nothing happens.  Near the antenna is another little circle- a red one with a line right down its middle.  I press it, and absently hold it down while I look up, finally noticing the heavenly aroma coming from the kitchen.

"What's for dinner, love?" I call.

"It's a surprise," she calls back.  "But here's a hint: it's neither cheese, nor toast."

"Very funny."

I get up from the desk and pick up my beer.  I'm just about to check on Robert when I see the screen has changed.  I peer closer.  Above the repeated word "NOKIA," the black, fuzzy image of a large hand reaching out to a smaller, child's hand, reminiscent of that Sistine Chapel painting by Michelangelo, is now spread across the green background.  I sit back down, heart racing.

"It's on," I say incredulously.  "It's working."

The hands vanish, and a blank screen appears with a bar rising two thirds of the way up on one side.  "No Signal" is the message across the screen top.  It's working.  Really working.  Robert didn't kill it!

"This thing is indestructible!"  I put my hands in the air and cry, "WOO-HOO!"

"What's all the hullabaloo?" Veronica calls.

"It's alive!" I cry, doing a very bad _Young Frankenstein_ impression; I sound much more like Marty Feldman than I do Gene Wilder.  "IT'S ALIIIIIVE!"

Then the screen goes blank again.

"What!  No, come back, come- oh, dear," I say to myself.  I hold it in my hands and push a random button.  The screen graphics return; I suppose the thing was just saving power.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

Veronica walks over.  "I assume it's working?"

I nod enthusiastically.  "It's working, all right.  God knows what it's meant for, but I think it's doing it."

"Daddy!" Robert toddles over, seeing me step away from the desk.  He raises his little arms, and I hoist him up onto my hip and tousle his hair.

"Dinner's just about ready," Veronica says with a smile.

"Hear that?  We're about to eat, let's go help Mum," I tell the little boy in my arms.  He's eyeing the bottle of beer in my other hand.  He reaches out for it.

"No, sweetheart, too young," Veronica tells him.  

"I dunno, Ron, he's getting so big, he'll be driving in about a month."  

Veronica rolls her eyes.  "Not even two and you want to teach him to drink and drive."

"Boy's got to learn some time.  But this stuff may be too much.  Let's make his a light."

"Oh, you," she laughs.

With a contented little squeal Robert reaches over my shoulder.  "What, Robbie?  Now what do you see?"  I say.

"Candy!"  'Candy' is his word for anything he likes and wants to put in his mouth.  I follow his pointing finger.  He's looking down at the desk; he wants the Relic.

I shake my head.  "Oh, no, you don't.  We're not going through all that again!"  I laugh.  This may work out alright after all.  Thank God.

************************************************************************************************

It's about one a.m. in the morning, and everyone is asleep.  But my eyes won't close and stay.  Something is keeping me awake tonight and I can't put my finger on it.

I had tried calling Freddie's apartment to share the good news, but it was Mary who answered.  She was checking on the cats one last time before turning in; I'd just caught her before she walked out the door.

"I'd love to take a message and forward it," she had said, "except I don't know where he's gone."

"Didn't he say?"

"Not really.  Just that he's out of the country."  Mary wouldn't tell me any more, and I didn't push.  But I still wonder where he went.  He clearly took Eve along.  I chuckle to myself.  Maybe they confessed their love to each other this morning, and in a fit of unbridled and incoherent passion ran off and eloped to Vegas.

Ha.  Freddie.  Married.  Not likely.

Suddenly I hear something odd in the study where my desk is. I rise from my wife's side and tug on my dressing gown.

As I leave the bedroom, the sound becomes clear.  It's a tinny, high-pitched whine, little popcorn notes snapping through the air.  

_Bip-bip-bip-bip-BEEP-bip-bip-bip-BEEP-bip-BEEP-BEEP..._

The synthesizer melody is coming from the Relic.  I walk over, squinting wearily at the thing.  I reach down to pick it up, accidentally squeezing the side button in the process.  The Relic pops open, but the music still plays.  On the screen it tells me, "Incoming Call: T-Rod HQ."

I'm uncertain of what to do.  Really I just want the music to stop, it's that bothersome.  I push the big green button again, and it stops.  I smile, and decide to maybe turn off the device so that we all can get some sleep tonight.

But now there's a crackling, slow voice: "...Hello?  Hello?"

It _is_ some kind of phone!  I lift it to my ear, then, frowning, ready to ask what all this is about.  "Hello?" I begin.

"J!  It's K!" announces the cautious, but still excited voice on the other end.  Behind him some twenty other voices shout in triumph.

Someone else says, a little further out of earshot, "We were starting to lose hope!  How are you holding up over there?"

"What?" I ask.  

"Julia?  Is that you?" the one called K says after a long pause.

_Julia?  Who's Julia?_ I ask myself.  "May I ask who's just rung me here?"

"...Oh," says the halting, American K.  "You're not Julia."

"No.  My name is John.  John Deacon.  Who are you?"

"John Deacon?"  The second voice gasps.  "The bass player?"

"Uh, yeah- that's me."

The poor K clearly doesn't know how to deal with this.  "My- uh... well, this is unexpected..."

The other voice takes over.  "How did you get a hold of this phone?"

"Wa- was I not supposed to?"

"Where's Julia?" He demands.

" _Who's_ Julia?  This phone belongs to a girl named Eve."

"Eve?" K says.  "What's she look like?"

"I dunno, brown hair, hazel eyes, five-five-"

"Is she kind of quiet?  Shy?"

"No, not really.  What's her full name?"

K began, "Julia Samue-"

"Shut, Steve!" the second voice barks.  "We can't give away everything!"

Samuels?  Immediately I think back a couple of days.  Yes.  There in front of the library.  That's what she had accidentally said her last name was, before correcting herself and  telling me it was Dubroc.  

"I know Miss Samuels!" I declare, before hushing again and whispering, "Now who are you people?"

"None of your business, just te- u- --ere Julia i-!"

"You're cutting out!  Who is she?  What's she here for?"

"W-'ll call tomor-, fi-- Jul-, she ne- t- c- home!"

"What?"

"Fi- -er!"

"I'm not doing anything of the sort till you tell me what all this is about!"

"We-" And the line went dead.

I set down the Relic, but I'm still staring at it, waiting for it to go off again.  They said they'd call tomorrow.  I don't doubt them.  Very slowly, I sit back down behind my desk.  I'm not really sure what's just happened.

Julia Samuels.  So that's her real name.  A pretty name, but that's not important right now.  What does matter is that chorus of voices on the other end.  She needs to come home, I believe they tried to say.  Where was home, Eve- I mean, Julia?  She never would say honestly.  And what was this thing I held, this otherworldly Relic?  This Relic with Michelangelo hands as the first thing you see on screen?  I had laughed when Freddie told me what he thought Eve was.  I had laughed when she said she was psychic.  No, not psychic, but perhaps something else.  Her arrival here was no accident.  I knew that beyond a doubt now.  So what _was_ she here for?  

_Miss Julia_ , I say to myself, _it seems you have a little explaining to do.  At this point, I'll believe anything.  
_

 

 


	38. How Does He Do That?

It was a strain keeping silent as we rode back up the escalator. Freddie's head was down, my sunglasses hiding his eyes, and a worn-looking baseball cap covering his hair. Our lips sealed, I stood glued next to him, our hands tightly gripping each other's. We were doing anything to keep low profiles; we were surrounded by teenagers tittering to themselves about R2-D2 and Princess Leia, and two hours ago we had learned the hard way that a love of space fantasy is somehow correlated with a mad love for rock music like Queen. 

And at the concession stand, of all places. Not even in the ticket line (which wasn't too short since the showing we were coming for started at 4:15; the line started really forming after we took our place), or when we sat down:

The minute I ordered a small popcorn for Freddie and a box of M&M's for myself, we were caught. We received our treats, and Freddie made one fatal mistake.

He opened his mouth and said, "Thank you very much."

That voice, the accent, and those teeth. We never had a chance.

The cashier shouted, "OMIGOD! YOU'RE FREDDIE MERCURY!!!!"

And that was it. People swarmed around him, begging for autographs and telling him in loud voices just how much they loved him, they were his biggest fans, and what the heck was "Bohemian Rhapsody" about anyway. Almost running, he and I ducked into the Men's restroom and waited in a locked stall till the coast was clear.

"You okay?" I asked.

Freddie nodded, relatively unfazed.

"That must happen a lot." 

"Sort of. It's just, usually I'm not so vulnerable." He smiled. "And usually I like it."

"Not now?"

"Not today, no. I'm just a bloke who wants a nice little date with his lady."

I smiled. "But I've been told even blokes want to be stars, deep down. No exceptions."

"You don't forget anything I say, do you?"

We emerged a few minutes later, tiptoeing into the theater itself, and found two seats in the very back _._ The trailers were already running; we just missed the end of a trailer for _Orca the Killer Whale_ ("Ooo," Freddie whispered as Bo Derek flashed up on the screen, and I rolled my eyes) and sat through one for _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_ ("Richard Dreyfuss, my love," I sighed, which earned a patronizing snicker from Freddie) and _The Goodbye Girl_ , which also starred Richard Dreyfuss. I sighed again and grinned like a fool.

Freddie leaned over and hissed into my ear, "You think he's cute?"

"Kind of."

He winced. "Why?" he whispered. I didn't answer, and instead just smiled and shook my head. Freddie folded his arms and pouted- not too hard, though, and not for too long. For _Star Wars_ began immediately afterward. 

The song goes that _Jaws_ (which, curiously enough, also stars Richard Dreyfuss...) was never his scene, and he didn't like _Star Wars_. That wasn't the impression I got at all. As soon as the opening title music started rolling, a little smile crossed Freddie's face, and stayed there in varying degrees for two hours. Needless to say, he got a big kick out of Darth Vader ("I want an outfit just like that," he whispered, "The cape and everything"), and was tickled beyond words that Sir Alec Guinness played Obi-Wan. 

But he seemed most affected, not surprisingly, by the music. "What a rip-off," he whispered (he did a lot of whispering throughout the film). "This has Wagner written all over it. Can you tell?" 

Now that he mentioned it, he was right; the opening titles themselves had the stuff of _Der Walkure_ about them. Though I'd seen this film at least two hundred times before, I was now expecting large women with golden braids and Viking hats to come flying through on horseback alongside the X-wings. And though the menacing Lord Vader was clearly his favorite character (shocker), he cheered like everyone else when Luke used the Force and blew up the big mean Death Star. _Just goes to show_ , I said to myself. _Even Freddie Mercury has a soft spot for good triumphing over evil, no matter how cliche is the struggle. We're only human. Happy endings are the best._

And they _are_ the best. It's such a horrid shame that they aren't the norm.

As soon as "Written and Directed by George Lucas" popped up on the screen we started getting ourselves ready to leave. I had to disguise him; the nerd herd- er, I mean, young people in the audience- would be looking for him. So we found an old red ball cap emblazoned with a "B" that had been kicked under the seat, and my odd round sunglasses I'd forgotten I had all this time. Freddie walked directly behind me, the brim pulled far over the shades, slinging my backpack over his shoulder. The bruise on his lip, still quite prominent, took away from his habitual tightness in the mouth. Only someone specifically looking for Freddie in a crowd would have been able to spot him; in this peculiar outfit he blended quite nicely, I thought.

"We need to get you a purse or something, dear," he muttered into my ear. "You're better than this old ratty thing."

We boarded the escalator to reach street level (Loews was an entirely underground one-screen theater), and it looked like we were going to slip out a little more smoothly than we'd slipped in. We said nothing, although I wanted to join the people around us in extolling the virtues of this brand new cultural phenomenon, and I wasn't even really a Star Wars fan. 

But Freddie was wearing the wrong hat.

As we rose to the top, and we left the theater, the real trouble began. We had barely rounded the corner when some tough guy who looked like one of the Wayans Brothers called out to us. 

"Hey, man, you still pullin' for those Red Sux?" he jeered. Too late I realized what the B meant. Oh, dear. We were Boston Red Soxers in Yankee City.

Freddie halted and bit his lip, so ready with a juicy comeback, but he held it in. He smirked and kept walking. But now Tough Guy and a small group of trouble-making hyenas were following us. 

"We gonna nail your asses this season," the guy said, this time with a chorus of "yeahs" backing him up. 

"That so?" I heard him say.

"Better believe it, jackass. You're gonna feel pretty dumb wearing that hat 'fore long."

Freddie stopped and lifted his head. He was not about to let that slide. I couldn't see his eyes for the hat and my sunglasses, but his mouth twitched, and he sighed through his nose. _Uh-oh. These guys had better run for cover._

"So!" he boomed at last. "You don't like my hat, eh?" 

"It's the sign of an ass-hat loser!" Tough Guy said.

"Yan-kees! Yan-kees!" they chanted. 

Sports fanatics. There's a place for them, there has to be. (Just kidding. These guys were just jerks looking for trouble, Freddie could have been wearing a suit and tie and they'd jeer at his preppiness).

I could almost hear Freddie rolling his eyes. This would be way too easy. Very quietly, then, very subtly, he transformed.

Wrenching away the sunglasses, Freddie revealed his face, the flat and untouchable expression of the showman. But his eyes were flashing as he reached forcefully into my backpack's open flap and grabbed a black pen. 

"Hey, wait," one of the mindless cronies gasped, "aren't you that guy? The weird guy with the 'Mama I killed a man' song?"

Freddie didn't answer. He was too busy scrawling his name across the brim of the hat, which he held up high over his head. "Who wants it now?" he cried.

By now most of them had recognized him. And their whole attitude changed. They rushed up at us, but not to attack; they only wanted to be closer to him to say they'd been this close to a rock star. And the two guys who were still lost simply followed their friends. No matter what the reason, every one of them wanted the autographed hat. In just two seconds they were putty in his hands.

"Think fast, darlings!" With a lofty toss, the cap sailed into the air and down the street. Like dogs after a stick, the goons turned on their heel and reflexively started for it.

Freddie grabbed my hand in this split second hesitation. With quiet authority he commanded, "Run."

I don't know who got the hat. We were long gone before it even hit the sidewalk.

It was like something out of a movie, the two of us running hand in hand, laughing like winded morons, while people on the street dove out of our way for fear we might run them over. I ran out of steam well before he did; Freddie looked primed to keep up the pace another three blocks, and here I was, bent over and wheezing after thirty seconds of sprinting.

"Thank God, I've still got the old school stamina," he said, playfully thumping his chest. 

I forced out a laugh. "You're crazy."

"Yes, but you love it."

I grinned, and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I guess I do. So where to?"

"Depends on how much is left."

I checked my pockets. "We got two dollars and fifty-four cents."

"How'd that happen?"

"The tickets cost a dollar fifty each, but the food and drink doesn't. What time is it?"

"I don't know, you're the one with the Magic Mirror."

"It's in the bag. And it's off." Fortunately there was a clock across the street. Squinting against the sun's glare on the glass, I made out the time. "Six forty-five. And we're supposed to be back in front of that currency thing at seven, right?"

Freddie nodded, but he didn't look too enthused. "I'm not standing round here and waiting for them either."

"But what if they head over at seven and don't see us here?"

"Then they can come look for us."

"Oh, Freddie-"

"Besides, I know French restaurants. They take their time. What's more, Sharon has a way of getting distracted."

"Are you seriously going to make Elton and Peter and everybody wait? They're your friends, I thought!"

"They are. That's not the point. Now, let's see- I haven't been over in Central Park in ages-"

"Freddie, we need to stick around," I insisted. Now that I had the money, I also had the power. How nicely that all works. "It's the _Starship_ we need to think of as well. And what about Vegas?"

"Oho! Look who's suddenly in a hurry to get to Sin City!"

"I'm just saying-"

"Hang on, Evie. Why don't we settle this like adults?"

"How do we do that?"

"Let me see a nickel or something, if you please."

I sighed. What was the use. I pulled a tarnished copper penny out of my pocket and laid it into his palm. Freddie took the coin and balanced it precariously upon his thumb. "Right. We'll flip once. No second go's."

"You are so stubborn."

"Yes, I am. I should think you might have learned to expect it by now. Ready?"

With another sigh, I nodded. Freddie blew lightly across the penny, then leaned back, instructing me, "Call it."

"Heads, we stay; tails, I follow you."

"I like how you put that, darling. Tails!" he cried, and flipped the little brown circle into the air. He caught it as it came crashing down and covered it with his hand. "You said, heads?" 

I nodded. Freddie smiled and uncovered the coin. We took a look.

***************************************************************************************

"Hot town, summer in the city," I was singing under my breath as Freddie and I hustled across the street. Thank God, the sun was at last sinking behind the skyscrapers; the summer heat reflecting off the concrete jungle was starting to get to me. As soon as we stepped into the oasis that is Central Park, the air cooled. Through the trees we could see the sky turning soft oranges and lavenders while the sun within it began to set.

"That's better," I sighed. "I was getting fried." 

But deep down I was worried. It was at least ten minutes past seven by now, and I couldn't help believing that the others were out looking for us. I couldn't decide if Freddie was just having too much fun to stop, or just a naturally inconsiderate narcissist, or both. But I had a feeling it was the third choice.

"This is nothing," Freddie remarked. "Where I grew up, it was hot year round, almost."

"No winter?"

"Mm-mm. Never saw snow till I moved to England. I thought Judgment Day had arrived," he joked.

I put my hands behind my back. "Where are you from?" I asked, as if I didn't have his birthplace hardwired into my memory. "I mean, from where did you move to London."

Freddie slid his arm round my shoulders as we walked. "Guess."

"Aw, nuts. I hate guessing."

"I'll give you three. Go."

"Um... uh- Australia?"

"Are you kidding?"

"I guess so. Erm... New Zealand?"

"Now you're getting colder. Here, I'll give you a hint: it's in Africa."

It was getting harder and harder to play dumb; but the name of his home island remained silent on my tongue. Instead I said, "South... Africa?"

"No, dear, give up?" I nodded, and he announced, rather proudly I thought, "Zanzibar!"

My eyes widened with interest. "Really?"

"Well, my family was technically from India, I suppose, geographically speaking, but my father worked in the Royal Court in Zanzibar when I came along, so I consider that my, um- you know, not my home, really, because England is my home, but-"

"I know what you mean," I said. "So you're Indian."

"No, I'm Persian. I come from a Persian sort of area in India. We're called Parsis."

"Oh, I see. So what was Zanzibar like?"

"I was rather small in those days, but it was beautiful. We were quite literally on the beach, as I remember, where we lived. White sandy beach, crystal blue ocean. Absolute paradise. A lot of happy days spent there."

Freddie's eyes sparkled as he reminisced. His features seemed to relax as gentle, perhaps nearly forgotten memories returned to him. This coming from a man who had waved away at talk of his past with indifferent words like "Oh, that's so mundane." Clearly he didn't honestly feel that way. I smiled, watching closely. This was a side of him I had never witnessed, and I was enchanted.

"Why'd you move?" I asked.

"There was the whole Revolution. The government was overthrown and things just got too dangerous for us to stay. And we weren't about to spend the rest of our lives in India, so we came to the UK. Best decision my parents ever made."

I noticed he wasn't saying anything about the biggest chunk of his childhood: his days at that Panchgani boarding school which consumed about ten years of his young life. I wondered why not, but to ask about it would give me away.

"What about you?" he asked. "Oh, that's right. You won't tell me."

And I couldn't. That would be too vile a violation of the Three Commandments. Besides, telling Mr. Well-Traveled Zanzibari I was from Dallas, Texas would seem so anticlimactic. "You wouldn't know where it was anyway," I lied. "It's a tiny little place."

"You don't tell me anything," he grumbled. 

"That's not true and you know it."

"Okay, fine. You won't tell me anything under your own steam. I have to pull it all out of you by force."

"Well, I'm just not sure if you'd be interested. Do you want me to just prattle on about myself?"

"No, but my God, Eve. You haven't even told me your real name!"

"You never asked."

Freddie shook his head. "A whole week this has gone on, and I still know nothing about you- no, that's not true either. I know a little. I know you prefer coffee over tea, and you have a most disturbing fetish for Richard Dreyfuss-"

I burst out laughing. "I do not! I just like him, that's all."

He smirked, sliding back into smarmy mode. "You said you found him attractive."

"I do."

"That's your kind of man? Prematurely gray, curly hair, glasses, stands two inches shorter than you-"

"He does not!"

"Frizzy beard and a squeaky voice? The disheveled professor look?"

"Right on."

"My God. I thought you had more self-respect."

"I love his intensity- how high strung he is. Looks- and voices- aren't everything, you know."

But Freddie was snickering. "Good Lord. Well, that puts things in perspective- gives me an insight into how deep your sexual frustration must go, if that's your ideal-" 

He cut himself off, but I'd already heard the shot. My lips clamped together in a hard line and I nodded. "Thanks, Freddie," I said quietly. "Good to know that's what you think."

I turned and meandered away from him, letting him think I was angry. But I honestly wasn't shocked to hear him suggest I was sexually frustrated. It's hard to get mad, really mad, at the truth when you yourself accept it to be truth. And thanks to Freddie's conditioning over the past week, these words I once would have considered outrageous, I now swallowed and conceded without much of a struggle. 

But regardless, what a catty thing to say. And how mortifying for a man I found much more appealing than Richard Dreyfuss to be the one to say it to my face. _For God's sake, Freddie. Pick a personality and stick to it. This is exhausting._

I walked along through the dry, tall grass. For the first time I noticed the noise of a huge invisible crowd of people. I couldn't see much beyond this huge, tranquil pond in front of me. The green grass near the water's edge looked cool and inviting; I sat down near the smooth wet stones, breathing deeply. Just to do it, I took off my shoes and set them down by my side. _Freddie hates it when I'm barefoot._

Footsteps approached from behind. A shadow fell across me a moment before Freddie too seated himself upon the ground. I greeted him with a nod, I kept staring out across the pond, listening to the murmur of the crowd.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "That was rude."

I looked at him. "What was?"

"The, um- the comment I made about, er-"

"Me being sexually frustrated?"

"Yes." He sighed. "That came out wrong."

"Came out wrong?" I squinted. "Is there a right way to talk about sexual frustration?"

"That wasn't what I meant. I was referring to- not that, necessarily, I meant as far as everything is concerned. That includes the, um, the foreplay."

I had to laugh. "Foreplay? Kisses and whatnot?" Freddie nodded sheepishly. "Well, for your information, I'm not. Frustrated, that is."

On instinct Freddie let out a little sarcastic laugh, before catching himself. 

I cocked my head. "You don't believe me?"

"Well, as a matter of fact... no."

"Why not?"

He exploded, "Because- Good Lord, Eve, sometimes I swear you act like God just plucked you from his garden on high, planted you in my closet, and boom, there you are, a fresh-faced child, only hatched yesterday, as naive as they come! You're- you're so good. And I tell you, it freaks me out a little."

I stared at him. Suddenly I realized maybe I wasn't nearly so sexually frustrated as the man sitting next to me. _But you're Freddie Mercury. You can have anyone you want. What's the matter with you?_

I fought back a smile. "What does this have to do with-"

"Let's start with the basics. I have to know. Be honest," he interrupted me. "Before all this happened- before you showed up in my closet- had you ever been kissed?"

"Uh, yeah. Plenty of times."

Freddie eyed me suspiciously. "I'm talking lips, not any other part of the face. Mutual mouth on mouth kiss."

"Again, yes. What's your point?"

"How many times?"

I hesitated. "Plenty."

"Do you have a rough figure?"

I pretended to count on my fingers, taking a nice long time in thinking it over. Then I replied in all honesty, "Two."

Freddie blinked. "Twice?"

"Yes, and they were distinctly underwhelming experiences. The second time, it was New Year's, and everybody was kissing everybody, so some random guy gave me a smooch in passing. The first time..." I trailed off, and hung my head as I remembered.

"What? What happened?" Freddie laid his hand over mine, his eyes wide and curious. 

I lay back in the grass. "It was so lame. Oh, it was so lame. We were playing ping-pong in some outdoor city park, and I beat him, and he said, 'Here's your reward-'"

Freddie broke down laughing. "Say no more, oh God, that's just clumsy."

"Yeah. So I'm admittedly still fairly green on the subject, although you and Roger have done a lot to bring me up to speed, so thank you. Roger's a terrible kisser, by the way."

Freddie lay back next to me. "I'll take your word for it, dear."

"And before you ask any more questions, yes, I'm a virgin."

"Oh, I knew that much. Believe me."

"What is going ON over there?" I exclaimed, sitting back up. "Come on, let's go see!" I couldn't stand not knowing any longer. I scrambled to my feet, pulling Freddie up along with me and ran across the grass to the bridge about fifty feet away. From our angle we could see a sizable throng gathered around a huge stage that was set up where the ice rink was supposed to be. Signs that said "Dr Pepper Music Festival" marked the event boundaries. 

The musician of the night was being introduced- a fellow named John Sebastian, which reasonably excited the mellow crowd. He launched right into the music, "What a day for a daydream/ what a day for a daydreamin' boy..."

I closed my eyes, swaying to the music. Such a friendly, lazy little song, one of my mother's favorites in fact. For just a moment, with the warm breeze blowing through the evening, the stillness of the pond, even the ambient pandemonium of New York traffic- when I closed my eyes, I was home again, give or take four decades. But even now, I was gradually coming to terms with it all. If I hadn't found the Relic yet, then I never would. Still, what a gift it would have been to see my family. It all seemed so distant. So out of reach. My real life had become the dream; and my dream was now the real life. It was a lonely feeling; in spite of the outside temperature, I shivered.

I felt Freddie's arm slip around my waist, turn me around and away from the music. I opened my eyes to see him take my other hand, and before I knew it we were gently dancing to the music. The dark eyes bored into my soul, glowing with some nameless emotion. All the walking and running around today, plus a good case of jet-lag, had worn us both down, and it was finally hitting us. Exhausted, I leaned in against Freddie's chest and shut my eyes again. He was so warm. Slowly my arms wrapped around him and held him closer to me. _So much for no embraces ever ever again. My willpower is kaput. Good grief. How does he do it?_

"So you weren't impressed with Roger," Freddie whispered. "What about me?"

"What about you?" I mumbled, half-smiling. "Kiss-wise, you mean?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh, you're much worse," I teased, adding, "Worse because you're better."

The smile was clear in his voice. "I can live with that."

Mr. Sebastian had reached the break, where he whistled the melody of the song. As I had any time before, I joined him, looking up over Freddie shoulder to see a few couples in the audience dancing just like we were.

"You whistle, too?" Freddie quipped. "Is there nothing you can't do, darling?"

I sighed, and said, "Now, see, this is what I'm talking about. You can be so charming when you want to be, Freddie. Why you gotta be so rude the rest of the time?"

"I have to keep you on your toes _some_ how."

Before I could reply, he kissed me again. After a moment, he drew away and said, "Nine."

"Nine what?"

"Nine kisses. That's your score so far."

"You made that up."

"That's better than two, isn't it? I'm going to get you caught up with society. The average I believe for your sort of age bracket [I began to laugh] is forty-two, so we have a ways to go, but we can at least get a head start."

"You're insane," I managed before his lips met mine and stopped my words. 

"Ten," he mumbled with a smile. Freddie's hand drifted to the back of my neck and softly held on as he kept kissing me, each time becoming a little less playful, his voice getting lower and more hoarse. I felt him leaning against me so that the small of my back was pressed against the bridge wall. 

He pulled away after one particularly intense caress, and muttered breathlessly, "Sorry, lost count, where are we?"

So English. 

Before I could answer (as if I even could; my head was spinning so fast I couldn't even put together a proper mental sentence), Freddie leaned in one more time, his mouth half-open-

"HEY!"

The word pierced my cloudy mind. Freddie looked up, and rolled his eyes, almost disappointed.

"Loves, we've been all over for you!" Peter shouted at us, running down toward the pond with Rudy lumbering along behind. "we've been worried sick- thought you'd been eaten or something!"

Freddie and I broke away, but he seized my hand. Peter was still babbling on too fervently to notice. "It's seven-twenty, for the love of God! We tried coming back for you when you jumped out of the limo, Freddie, but you simply vanished. Where'd you go?"

"Long story. Where's everyone else?"

"We split up at either ends of the Park. We just need to go collect the others. They're not too far away, come along, my ducks. The plane's all set. We called the airport half an hour ago, so as soon as we climb aboard we're off for Vegas."

With that we rushed off, but not before I whispered to Freddie, "By the way, I ought to just tell you- Mr. Dreyfuss has nothing on you."

He beamed. "Why didn't you say so?"

"You never asked. Oh, and twenty-three."

The atmosphere rang with John Sebastian's "Welcome Back" and Freddie's singing laughter.

 


	39. A Sobering Experience

Thankfully, the rest of our troupe, namely Elton, Paul, and John Holmes, had only just begun to scour their side of the Park, so we found them relatively soon.  And I do mean, relatively.  Manhattan traffic had reached a nauseating level by this point in the evening; had half of us walked and the other half ridden to Central Park's north side, the riders would only have beaten the walkers by maybe ten minutes.  

But there they were, just the same, clustered together on the forked path, in a heated argument about which direction they ought to go first.  Well, Elton, ever the cool cucumber, was generally just standing back and watching; John and Paul were the ones really going at it.  When they saw Freddie and me, their gripes turned to chuckles, as we were apparently quite windblown.  "Street urchins," I think someone called us.  ("Stray cats, he means," I mouthed to Freddie.)

Elton in those days wasn't all that unique in his physical appearance, and to the average Joe was only as recognizable as his costumes.  As we came closer I saw he had removed his cap and all-important glasses ("That was a f---ing stupid thing to do," he remarked later, "I couldn't bloody see the tip of my own nose, let alone you two runaways!"), so that he came off as just some random guy who needed to see a barber some time in the next week.  _  
_

_The price of fame_ , I said to myself.  _They almost have to have secret identities just to be able to walk down the street without being whispered about or stared at.  I couldn't live like that for money._

"For God's sake, Fred, do you want the world to know we're here or not?" Elton chided. "We were two steps away from calling the coppers."

"This chap here was about to absolutely flip, weren't you, Paul?" John laughed.

 Paul said nothing, but he didn't have to; the look in his eyes when they landed on me suggested he now would prefer to kill me much more slowly and painfully then with a simple, quick gunshot into the cranium.  I just smiled.

 

_Nice.  Paul's upset.  I don't care.  Burn, baby, burn. I don't mind screwing things up for ol' Pudding Face. It's Mary I worry about.  Oh, what would she think, Freddie kissing me like that?  I know they're not "together" anymore, but still... And David Minsy -I mean, Minns.  What would he- oh, goodness...  
_

Nobody appeared to be excessively annoyed that Freddie and I made them wait; they'd enjoyed a fantastic meal, and their faces were rosy and jovial with excellent wine. Only Paul Prenter looked like he felt violently cheated. 

"We're nearly an hour overdue," Rudy reminded us all.  That was our cue to head back and start piling into the Cadillac limousine.  So we miscreants did that very thing.  You would think a group as large as ours would draw attention, but the music festival itself had siphoned a majority of Central Park's visitors.  We were safe.

"So much for a day trip," Freddie said to me.  "We'll have to get hotel rooms when we get to Vegas.  I'm whacked."

"This sure would have been easier if we just waited," I hummed.

Freddie folded his arms.  "Do you wish we had?"

I shook my head.  

"Well, then, there you are."

"But I'm just saying, we probably could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we stuck aroun-"

"Oh, would you _huuuush_." Freddie covered my mouth and began pushing me toward the front seat when he stopped.  "Wait, no.  There's no reason you should be so far away."

"But there's no room back there!"  The rest of the fellows had staked out their seats by this point.

"Look!"  Freddie slid in next to Elton, then patted his thigh.  "See?  Lots of room.  Come on!  Don't keep us waiting."  He waved his hand.

With another roll of my eyes (the action was becoming almost as involuntary as breath itself), I clambered in and sat in Freddie's lap.  He slipped his hands around my waist as if they were the seat belt.  Peter snickered and said something along the lines of "I'll make room for you next time, Evie."

The chauffeur, who spoke with a thick Russian accent, asked us, "So we go straight to JFK, or do you have 'nother stop to make?"

All the guys were raring to sail out of the Big Apple, and said so.  Las Vegas lay in wait for them, like a grown-up's Disneyland.  But I remembered that bittersweet sight as we had crossed over into Manhattan.  The unmistakable skyline, yet so drastically different from the one with which I'd grown up.  I had to see them for myself.

Quietly I piped up, "Will we be passing through the financial district on our way?"

The chauffeur shook his head.  "Is not en route.  You want to head there too?"

I looked at Freddie.  "Freddie, would that be all right with you?"

"What do you want to do down there?  Too late for trading, I think."

"I want to see the World Trade Center."

"What for?  They're just really tall buildings.  There's lots of those-"

"Freddie, please," I pleaded softly.  "I need to see them.  It's- it's important."

He opened his mouth, perhaps to convince me this wasn't nearly as important as I was making it out to be.  I tried to look sincere, for what it was worth; since Freddie was less than gung-ho for the idea, I knew it would be an uphill battle.  But he gazed into my eyes and saw something else- something that made his own soften inside.  A concerned little crease formed between his brows.  I felt my heart quicken and my insides flutter.  I'd never seen this look before.

"It'll just be for two minutes, I promise," I said.  

"Y-yes, of course," Freddie stammered, struggling to re-apply the mask.  "We can do that.  You don't ever ask much, we can at least do this.  Just a drive-by, right?"

I nodded.  Everyone groaned, grumbling about the time and the distance, but Freddie ignored them.  He was the emcee, this was his idea- and therefore he was the final authority on where we went as a group.  Freddie gave our chauffeur the word.

It took forever, I admit, to crawl down to the Wall Street area.  But once we turned the corner, and the Twin Towers loomed before us in their awesome entirety, my whole body seemed to go numb.  We rolled closer, the World Trade Center complex consuming a mind-boggling chunk of the city.  I stared, transfixed, my heart pounding.  

_I'm going to do it.  I have to.  If it's good enough for Freddie, it's good enough for me._

"Okay, there they are," John Holmes sniffed, "big buildings, big business, big money, big f---ing deal.  Now can we-"

I opened the door of the moving limo and ran toward the Twin Towers.

"Oh, come on!" I heard them cry.  "Not again!"

I really didn't run very far, or fast.  Traffic was moving slower than I was.  I stopped at the North Tower which was nearest to the street.  I leaned back and squinted up, following this steel wall's rise up, up into the air, so high up I couldn't see precisely where it ended.  I had no idea they were that big.  In the old photographs the Twin Towers dominated everything around them, but it was when I came right up close to them I truly realized their enormity.  Thousands of people must have been in those buildings at that very moment, even as late as it was.

I had fuzzy memories of that day, being only four years old at the time.  But as young as I was, I was conscious that something horrible had gone down- and the horrors of that September morning's attack all Americans now acknowledged as the day the Earth turned inside out, became a place of fear, as the ugliness of evil was exhibited on full display.  A lump formed in my throat.  _  
_

_My God.  All those people.  There's so much evil in the world.  Oh, sweet Jesus, why?  
_

I came closer.  With trembling hands I touched the concrete wall in front of me.  I shivered.  Over three thousand people.  Gone.  And they didn't know.  But I did.  The most helpless feeling enveloped me.  I knew what was going to happen- I knew something that could save three thousand plus people.  And there was nothing I could do.  Who would believe some drifter, no-name girl with a crazy story about an airplane hijacking and these indestructible behemoths going down like Jenga blocks in twenty-four years?  

"Eve?" Freddie's voice cautiously penetrated my mind.

I turned toward him and tried unsuccessfully to swallow the tightness.  Freddie's arm slipped around my shoulder.  The limo still sat stuck in the sea of cars; he'd jumped out right after me.  Freddie squinted up the side of the Tower, as I had done a moment ago, then looked at me quizzically.  

In a careful, quiet voice, he murmured, "Eve, what do you see?"

His absolute lack of doubt, of disbelief, as he asked me this, struck me.  Could I tell him?  Would he believe me?  What on Earth would make him believe me?  I looked into his eyes to see that same open, gentle look.  He wanted to know.  He wanted to share the pain.  Did I dare give him that chance?

_I see dead people_ , I thought to myself.  But it was the second part of this thought that killed me, and made it clear I still wasn't strong enough:

_And you're one of them._

I had been fairly good at choking back tears around Freddie, as I didn't know how he'd handle me.  I feared he would be impatient, perhaps unsympathetic.  Besides, my face became so unpleasant when I cried; my nose reddened, my eyes puffed, my whole person just turned into a sniveling, splotchy mess, and that was the last thing I wanted Freddie to have to look at.  But this was the straw that broke my camel's back.  I began to weep.  

He acted quickly.  Freddie wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest.  I held him close and buried my face into his shoulder, my tears making water spots on his shirt.  

I shuddered and said in a tight, emotional voice, "I'm- I'm sorry, I'm making them wait-"

"Shh," he whispered.  "Let them.  We're not moving from this spot until you've let it all out."

"But-"

"Cry, my angel.  Just cry."  He pressed his lips against the top of my head.

He was so sweet in this moment I couldn't stand it.  I fauceted.  Tears of exhaustion, tears of pain, tears of anger, tears of helplessness.  All the fragile moments of the past week- I poured them out while he held me. I was so powerless, so weak; only eight (or was it nine?  I had yet to figure out the adjustments for time zone change) days ago I had believed myself such a strong-willed wizard of the mind.  Freddie showed me otherwise.  

I'm not sure how long we stood there, but it was a short enough time to bring the limo close enough to us so that when Freddie was convinced I had sufficiently purged myself, all we had to do was walk a few feet and get back in.

When the fellows saw me in all my flushed, tear-streaked glory, an awkward silence settled over them.  Every playful scold about us making them wait yet again died in their throats.  I sat quietly on Freddie's knee, hands folded.  No one said a word for quite a long time.

"Sorry about that, guys," I finally broke the silence.  

Elton half-smiled.  "Have you finished jumping out of cars for a while?"

I nodded.  "We're on the highway, so yes."

Someone chuckled, but did it too softly for me to tell who.  Again, the silence fell.  The Russian drove on, and we twiddled our thumbs, hardly in a Las Vegas state of mind, least of all me.

And then, without warning, Freddie started singing. 

"Hey, Jude," he began, his a cappella voice clear and soft, "Don't make it bad... Take a sad song/ and make it better..."

I felt a smile start.  His hand round my waist began keeping time as he continued, "Remember to let her into your heart/ Then you can sta-art/ To make it Better."

Before I could stop myself I joined him on the second verse.  "Hey Jude, don't be afraid/ You were made to/ go out and get her."

Elton, having put his trademark glasses back on, smiled and began singing along.  Peter offered his own rendition of the harmonies, and Rudy, ever the beat keeper, was tapping his foot against the floorboards.  I felt myself calming down, our smiles and energy making welcome comebacks.  Paul sat there like a stump, forcing a lizard grin.  But nobody paid any attention.

"Remember, to let her under your skin/ then you'll begi-in/ to make it Better, better, better..." we sang at last, getting more and more obnoxious with each "better" until we were all screaming at the top of our lungs at the "YEAH!" which feeds into the "nah nah" part.  We kept those up at the same loud volume until we reached the airport.  It didn't bother our Russian friend one bit; he was just as loud as us.  And from then on, I had the feeling that Peter and Elton had accepted me.  

Even today, I still can't hear "Hey Jude" without remembering Peter's shrill impromptus or Elton's slightly nasal voice instead of Paul McCartney's.  And most of all, the sound of Freddie's clear tenor vibrating right next to my ear.  It remains one of my favorite life memories.

As we stepped out of the limousine, I kissed Freddie's cheek and whispered, "Don't you ever get tired of constantly saving the day?"

He didn't answer me.  With a little wink, Freddie grabbed my hand.  "Come along!"

What I didn't know is that now Freddie was watching me, even closer than before.  I'd let something show there in front of the Twin Towers, and now he was looking for it.  Only time would reveal just what I'd been so foolish to let him see.

_The occasion will arise_ , I told myself was we headed for the _Starship_. _And if in the next twenty-four hours it doesn't, I'll tell him anyway. He may hate me for it. But I must tell him. I must._

 

 


	40. The Starship's Final Voyage

Back in the company of his friends, Freddie seemed to remember who he was: the pushy, party-hard professional with charm and finesse enough to share. That other guy, the sweet, goofy average Joe I'd run around New York City with, he left behind in the limo.  I didn't try and conjure that person again; if he came back, it would be in private.  I didn't want to embarrass Freddie in front of Elton John- which meant I'd have to wait before asking him what was his favorite part of _Star Wars_. 

And the two of us would have to get well out of earshot of these high-profile clowns before I could tell Freddie anything important.

In minutes we boarded the _Starship,_ with a new captain at the helm. This time, there was a designated co-pilot, leaving Rudy off the hook.  I remember neither of their names, I'm sorry to say, but they were great people.  You'll see why in a bit.  Since Rudy could no longer be my excuse to remove myself from the festivities (and to be honest, I didn't really want to this time around), I happily stayed in the passenger section.

The engines started up with a smooth, sexy purr, no rattle or telltale noise to speak of whatsoever.  Before long, we'd taken to the night skies, and we were free to move about the plush cabin.  Freddie slipped into the bathroom to splash a little water on his face.  Belle, our sole stewardess, disappeared to fix Freddie and myself something to eat; all we'd had was a little theater junk food.  Elton sat down behind the organ and started noodling around on the keys; and everyone else generally made a raid on the bar. 

"Have a drink, Eve!" Peter offered.  "What's your pleasure?"

"I don't, but thank you anyway," I shook my head.

"Rubbish!  It'll help to calm you down, you got so upset earlier."

"I'm feeling much better now.  No, thanks."

Peter sighed and put his hands on his hips.  "How do you expect to have a good time when your answer to everything is 'No, thanks'?"

I half-smiled.  "Freddie, have you been talking to Peter?"

Freddie crossed his legs and twiddled his thumbs in an attempt to appear innocent, looking in every direction except mine. 

"You're a big help.  Anyway," I joked, "I'm much too young."

Freddie turned serious.  "Hang on.  _How_ young?"

"Don't look so scared.  I'm two weeks away from twenty."

The dark eyes widened.  "Well, f---.  I was way off."

"How old did you think I was?"

"Five years my junior, if that?"

"And you are...?"

"Thirty-one in September."

"Whoa," I teased him, "you're so _old_."

"I wear my age well though, don't you think?  But you- My God, you're practically still a child!" 

_Oh, you hypocrite.  Mary was nineteen when you started dating her._

"Practically, but not technically," Peter said slyly.  "C'mon, Eves.  You can't be this uptight in Vegas, they'll have you tarred and feathered!  Call it practice."

"Uncle, uncle," I sighed.  "Okay, I'll have whatever you're having."

Famous last words. 

He poured two tall glasses of straight vodka with a couple of small ice cubes for decoration.  Sliding one into my hand, Peter toasted and threw his own back, swallowing it all impressively.  I took one sip of mine, and found to my surprise that I didn't hate it.  It was tasteless at first, but it burned with a friendly fire as it slid down my throat.  This was no place for lightweights; in one gulp I drained my glass.

"That's the girl!" Peter cheered.  I coughed a little, but I'd found favor with the Jamaican.  Right now, that was plenty of encouragement. 

Freddie looked on in disbelief.  "You mean, that's it?  No extra cajoling?  Just boom, and it's down?"

"What can I do, Freddie," Peter smiled.  "I have the magic touch."

"Well, well.  Evie, you didn't tell me you liked your boys black."

_Oh my gosh, Freddie, you did not just say that!  
_

Still I smirked.  "There's a lot I haven't told you, dearie.  Anyway, you like your girlies blonde, Mr. Bo Derek _."_

"I don't mind making exceptions.  Certainly you'd do me the same favor?"

"Mind your own business." _  
_

Freddie couldn't think of a good comeback, so he stuck his tongue out at me. _Ooh, good one.  
_

But in all honesty, I had indeed begun taking a liking to the man _,_ though a solely friendly liking.  He was similar to Freddie in many ways _,_ but I was extremely attracted to Freddie, whereas I simply liked Straker.

Peter laughed.  "Can't say I blame her."

I leaned forward and planted a friendly little kiss on Peter's cheek and tossed a wink Freddie's way, but felt rather surprised at myself.  Cocaine made me hyper and careless; vodka made me cheeky and careless.  Though careless was a dangerous thing to be, I much preferred "cheeky" to uncontrollably hyper.

"Don't forget, Straker," Freddie warned.  "She's to be married.  Don't let's get too friendly with the lady.  It's, um- it's not proper Round Table etiquette."

"The one we should be worrying about is you, Lance," Elton quipped. 

Freddie feigned surprise.  "Me?"

Elton smirked.  "For the sake of her fiance, don't make Eve your Elaine!"

"Elaine?" I squinted.  "Don't you mean Guinevere?"

"Not at all.  I mean Elaine.  Elaine and Lancelot.  From the T. H. White story, remember?  Better be careful, love.  That's a dangerous combination."

I sat down, interested.  "I don't know that story, what happens?"

But Freddie was grinning.  "Tell you later, dear.  It's hardly a chaste enough subject to be discussed at the Round Table."

"Look what I found!" John Holmes crowed.  He was standing on tiptoes peering into the overhead luggage shelves. Reaching up, he pulled down a stack of boxes.  "Trivial Pursuit," said one.  "Group Therapy," said another.  But as soon as I saw the red box on the bottom, I knew where these last two hours of our trip were going. 

"Is that _Scrabble_ I see?"  Paul said almost cheerfully, throwing back a little scotch and water. 

Freddie whirled, competition sparkling in his eyes.  "I'll play.  Who's joining us?"

"I will!" Peter set the game down on one of the tables.  "Sharon, you up for it?"

Elton grinned.  "I'll play the winner."

"I'm no match for you, Freddie," Paul said when the question was popped at him.

Freddie glanced my way.  "How about you, Evie?"

"I would, except I'd beat you so badly you'd never get over it," I smirked.

His eyes narrowed, and he took two menacing steps toward me.  "Was that a challenge, Miss Dubroc?"

"You tell me."  I fluttered my eyelashes. 

He laughed haughtily.  "Don't worry, little girl, I'll go easy on you."

"There's no need," I said defiantly.  "Unless, of course, I need to make the same adjustment for you, old man."

John Holmes laughed.  "I think war's just been declared." 

"Set it up!" Freddie thundered with a sweep of his arm.  "We'll see who's bluffing who!"

The vodka, already going to my head, made me fearless.  I corrected him, " _Whom_ , Freddie.  Who's bluffing whom."

"Whatever!  Come on!"

After pouring myself another vodka, a shorter one without ice, Peter, Freddie, John Holmes, and myself crowded round the table.  I loved Scrabble, and being such a bookworm, I was actually quite good at it.  But I'd never felt competitive about the game till now.  It was so silly, Freddie getting all worked up about a board game- but it was even sillier that I let his spirit rub off on me.  Still, the vodka and this contest for bragging rights did a great deal to distract me from New York and the tragedy with which I associated it.

Soon enough, everybody was watching.  Rudy was peering over my head at my tiles, and Elton glanced casually over Freddie's shoulder.  I wanted to take a few pictures with the Android, but I preferred that only two people, namely Rudy and Freddie, know I had such a device.

I soon found out I was playing against the unofficial Scrabble world champion, and I was in over my head.  Freddie had Scrabble down to an art.  Typically he stuck to two or three letter words, but he arranged them so strategically that he not only hit the point jackpot every other turn, but he wound up blocking the board for everyone else.  I almost got a little upset at first, because I couldn't understand how I kept making all these long, five to six letter words and then Freddie came along and caught a score twice that of mine by playing a single tile.

One of Freddie's pet peeves was when someone would look over his shoulder, see a possible word, and suggest it to him.  It frosted him to no end.  Paul learned that quickly.

At one instance, Paul whispered, pointing at his row of tiles, "Hey, you got this one here, and that one, if you put them in that corner over there you could get a triple let-"

Freddie slowly looked up at him with a How-stupid-do-you-think-I-am expression, his lips twitching irritably over his teeth, and Paul defended himself, "I was just trying to help!"

"You are not helping, you are cheesing me off," Freddie said through gritted teeth.  "Won't you sit down?"

"Sorry," Paul said with a little bow.

Then the captain's voice screeched over the PA system.  "In a few minutes, we'll be hitting a rather rough air pocket, so be prepared to brace yourselves.  It's going to be a bumpy ride."

Freddie was too entrenched in the game to notice.  "Oh, hey, I've got it," he announced with a naughty smirk, and laid down his tiles, creating his longest word yet. "Okay, that's three for C, plus one for the O, four; C, another three, makes seven, and with the K and S, which is six points together, so thirteen- plus the double word score, makes twenty-six!  Great."

I covered my eyes, then tallied his points.  "King Arthur's Knights, ha!" I muttered.  "More like the Suicide Squad."

"The who?" Peter looked up, brows knit under his dark brown curls.

"Uh, never mind."  Whoops.  That was a little too untimely of a reference, but now it was too late.  I blame the vodka.  Only the Grey Goose could have made me draw such a stupid parallel.

"Did you say Suicide Squad?" he repeated. 

"Er, yes."

"Never heard of that. What is it?"

So I told him.  "You're not missing much.  It's a story about a bunch of crazy bad guys who are called in to destroy an even worse bad guy- which, I guess, makes them the good guys, but they're still rotten people inside."

Peter nodded, humoring me.  "Makes sense, I suppose."

"They have really sensational names, too- code names," I murmured.  "For example, if you were in the Squad, Rudy, because you're so reliable and tough, we'd probably call you Fail-Safe." Rudy nodded, accepting his title with quiet, dignified indifference.

"And Sharon [I never thought I'd be so comfortable around Elton to call him Sharon, but it happened], you'd probably go by the name Rocket Man or something."

"No he wouldn't, he'd be Sharon," Freddie laughed.

Elton John shrugged.  "Whatever.  Better than Four Eyes."

"Obviously," John Holmes muttered with a grin.  "I suppose I'd just be Randy John, right?"

I nodded.  "Now, Straker would be, um..."  Since I had Elton John songs on the brain, I thought of the one Freddie and I sang together that night.  "Too easy.  Peter, you'd be the Mad Hatter."

"As opposed to the Mona Lisa, of course," Freddie hummed, drumming his fingers against the table.  "Are you going to play, dear, or-?"

"Oh, yes, yes- sorry, I was just trying to decide who you'd be," I said, then stared at my tiles. We were close to the end of the game, so there was nothing to draw from anymore and all we had to work with were the tiles we had already drawn.  I had four left- something like T, N, V, and U.  There was an obvious choice, especially after the word Freddie had just put down, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I shook my head.  "No mercy, eh, Freddie?"

"You said not to go easy on you," he sang.  "Are you going to pass again?"

"No, hold on.  I just don't know if I should make this word.  It's so awful."

"Awful?  Oh, then by all means.  Let's have it."

"But I can't!"

"Then you'll pass?"

"No!  Okay, okay, here it comes." I looked up, whispered "God forgive me," then, building off the top C in the word Freddie just played, I lined the tiles up. 

Everyone went silent and stared at this word, this word that I had played- I, of all people.  I could scarcely believe it myself.  Freddie stared, flabbergasted, at the obscene word now branching off his, then looked back up at me.

"Triple word score," I said meekly. 

And that contagious, almost evil laugh just began rolling out of Freddie.  All the guys joined him.  Elton actually slapped me on the back.  With a dramatic flair Freddie reached across the table, took my hand in his, and kissed it.  And then I did something terrible: I started laughing too.

  _When we get to Vegas, I am finding a church and I am going to confession.  No questions asked._

"That was worth the whole game right there," Freddie said.  "Your turn, Straker?"

At that moment the plane shook, as though we were in a car driving over a badly paved country road.

"On second thought, maybe we'd better strap down," Freddie said hastily.  "Come back to this in a minute."

So we abandoned the almost-full board and fastened our seat belts.  For no particular reason- perhaps out of force of habit- I grabbed my Android as I passed my backpack and turned it on. 

Freddie came and sat beside me again.  "You are too much, Evie!" he hissed into my ear.  "Where on _Earth_ did that word come from?"

"Don't play righteously indignant with me," I said.  "As if you don't use the word yourself!"

"I just never thought I'd see the day you'd use it, let alone play it," Freddie marveled.  "Sweet and innocent on the outside, but, oh, what an edge you've got on the inside!"

The plane shook again.  Freddie looked freaked for a moment, then calmed as I answered him, "You do realize you're responsible for that 'edge,' right? Ever since I got here, you've worked at wearing me down."

"Perhaps, but I do it with the best of intentions."

"Oh, really?"

"Are you having fun?"

"Absolutely."

"That's all I want. You just need to take the risk. I may be forcing you to take it, but for the most part I haven't steered you wrong, have I?"

"Even if I say no?"

"Especially if you say no. That only makes whatever it is all the more vital."

I glanced out the window. It was pitch dark, save for the red and white lights on the wing.

_I freak you out because I'm "good"; man, you're the naughtiest person I've ever spent time with, and you scare me to death._ _You are eroding my will, Freddie, to make it align with yours- and doing a pretty good job of it. That's the scariest part of all._

"It's like you're the Joker trying to make me into your own personal Harley Quinn," I said aloud.  

"You mean, _harlequin_ ," Freddie began, when the plane shuddered one more time.  His large hands clenched over each other, turning the tips of his fingers red.  "Is it me, or are those getting worse?"

'It's just turbulence.  And no, I mean Harley Quinn."

"Evie, my lush little lush, it's pronounced har-luh-quin.  Not har-lee-quin."

"Mr. Grammar Nazi, I'm not talking about your diamond-leotard-catsuit thing, okay?  I'm talking about a very famous femme fatale- oh, wait, sorry.  Yeah.  Too soon.  She was a nineties thing, sorry."

Freddie eyed the half-full glass still in my hand.  With a haughtily arched brow, he very pointedly took it away from me.

"Perhaps," Freddie remarked, "you'd better stay dry after all.  You can't handle it."

"Was _that_ a challenge, Mr. J?" I said (having tipsily decided that Freddie was indeed the Clown Prince of Crime- which slipped him quite nicely into the "Squad"; all I can say is, Freddie was absolutely right- I don't hold my liquor well).  

Freddie raised my glass in a silent toast.  As he lifted the glass to his lips and drained it, I couldn't help notice how much quieter the cabin sounded.  The engine noise had reduced, by almost too much.  For a moment the _Starship_ leaned slightly but still noticeably to one side before making a subtle adjustment.  We endured one more turbulence shock while the overhead lights flickered.

Peter said, perhaps a bit too nonchalantly, "Should we be concerned?"

But the fellow sitting by the aisle next to me saw this as no laughing matter. "What the f--- was that?" he demanded.  To say he sounded a little nervous would be an understatement.

The Captain's voice came back over the speakers, as if to answer Freddie.  And it wasn't the best news.

"Ladies and gentlemen, again, we're sorry for the turbulence. We've just l-" He said more, but the menacing air pocket wasn't nearly through with us.  We jostled about a little more, and immediately afterward we heard the distinct whirring of the engine propellers wind down and stop.  All that remained was the sound of the air sweeping across the wings.  

"...Uh, make that both the engines," corrected the captain, "but we're doing our best to get them back on.  Please do not panic.  If in the event we do not succeed in restarting them, we will take steps for an emergency landing in the Utah area."

Elton said with admirable calm, "Did he say we've lost engine power?"

The lights in the cabin flickered a moment, then dimmed.  A rock plunged into my stomach.  No engines, and we were flying through the tail end of some serious turbulence.  Already we could feel the cabin pressure change.  My ears began to pop.  There was a little time before we dropped to an altitude where we had to land.  Belle rushed to the front, somehow kept her balance as the plane shook one more time (hard enough to finally send the Scrabble board to the floor, tiles flying in all directions behind us) and she instructed us on what to do should the oxygen masks pop out in front of our faces.  

"Ground Control to Major Tom," Peter started trilling to himself.  "Ground Control to-"

"STRAKER!" We all shouted in frightened, ragged voices.  

Well, everyone except Freddie.  He sat there as still as a statue, his head back against the cushion, his eyes closed, his mouth pressed in a tight line, his hands gripping the armrests for dear life.  He was holding everything in like usual, but only a compete idiot could have missed what was really going on.  The rest of us were scared, no doubt about it; but this man was petrified.

In a very quiet, strained voice, he suddenly spoke.  "This is one way to go, I suppose."

I gulped.  I thought of my new friends, of high and low profiles aboard this plane.  Before I came along, there was no record of any such joyride to Vegas.  Had I screwed Freddie over prematurely?  Had I ruined them all so fast?  Were we about to plunge to our deaths?  _Dear God, please protect us. Get us through this.  It's too soon._

In a strange moment of coherence, I remembered my Android.  According to the great scientific genius of time travel, Robert Zemeckis (ha), if this Vegas trip had altered time at all, I'd be able to find proof in a picture, or a song, or a film.  Quickly I tapped the password then zoomed straight to my Music.  I looked through the playlists and saw nothing missing.  All my 80's Queen songs were still there; every post-1977 Elton John song remained.  I relaxed.  If it was good enough for Marty McFly, it was good enough for me.

"What are you doing?" Freddie demanded when he caught me staring at the smart phone.

I looked up at him.  "Wha-"

His voice quivered, even in a whisper.  "Shouldn't you be praying or something?  Isn't that your f---ing job?"

"I am!  Why don't you try it sometime?"

Freddie seemed to come unhinged all of a sudden.  His voice rose.  "How can you stand to be so smooth?  Is this what you wanted, you and your boss?  You want us to go down?  Is that what you f---ing came for?  Is that what you want me to-"

I took hold of his hand.  "Freddie, get a grip!  We're not gonna die!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I know!  Now take it easy.  We're not going to crash.  They're gonna fix it."

"Did that thing tell you so?"

"Does that matter?  Control yourself, please, because if you flip out, then I'm gonna flip out, and there's absolutely no reason for anyone to flip out because you don't go down like this.  Okay?"

He opened his mouth to say something else crazy, but I stopped him.  "No.  Don't talk.  Just breathe."  

Freddie breathed.  His rapid, panicked short gasps gradually subsided.  He closed his eyes.  He looked just as terrified as ever, but at least he'd stopped going berserk.  It felt so odd, me taking charge.  So many times, that had been Freddie's duty. 

My ears popped again.  My heart raced.

And as abruptly as they'd quit, the engines struck up an unmistakable whir. 

The lights brightened in the cabin.  The noise became steady, and the pressure returned to normal.  Everyone raised a relieved "Hooray!"

Freddie closed his eyes again and fell back against the seat.  He took a deep breath and lowered his head, but he didn't let go of my hands, clenching them so tightly I was starting the lose feeling in my fingers.  Gently I pried him off.  

Peter sang quietly under his breath, "For here are we sitting in a tin can-"

"Really?"  Elton cried.  

"I'm sorry, man, I've got it stuck in my head now."

We didn't have any further trouble for the last little bit of the flight, but we all stayed in our seats just to be on the safe side.  As overjoyed as we were, we were too frazzled to take any more chances with the _Starship_. 

Freddie said absolutely nothing for the rest of the trip- or the night itself, for that matter.  Several times I caught him staring at me with a careful, but confused, look in his eyes.  Whenever I met his gaze, he would focus back on the seats in front of us.  

There's nothing really special about the way we touched down, or how we exited the plane.  All I know is, this was the final flight of the _Starship_ , made clear in the discussions we heard over the hot intercom between the flight crew; words like "ground her" and "way too close" could hardly mean anything else.

But I did take it upon myself, along with Rudy, to clean up the Scrabble mess.  My knees weak, I wobbled to the back of the plane.

"Let's just say you won, Freddie," I called to him.  

He didn't answer.

I knelt to put the tiles back into their little bag, only to see a word- well, two words, honestly- still sitting relatively intact on the board.  Since the board itself had fallen from the table, the fact that anything had stayed together was a miracle.  But the words I saw, and quickly mussed before Rudy came to help, startled me.   

They were the remnants of Peter's contribution, "Tiller," and John Holmes's point-heavy starter, "hambone."  But "bone" was gone, scattered upon the floor, along with the vowels in Peter's word.

All that remained was the phrase, the eerie phrase: "Tll hm."

_Tell him_.

I hadn't the energy to be spooked.

"I'm working on it!  Okay?" I sighed, my stomach wrenching.  "Just meet me halfway and bring me the opportunity, if you please."

God answers prayers.  I know that for a fact.  

I just didn't think He'd answer mine so quickly...

 


	41. Who Are You, Part One

"Well, I can safely say, that was a hell of a ride," Peter remarked, stifling a yawn. "Hopefully we won't have to do it again."

The five of us were standing in the lobby of the Sahara Hotel and Casino. Elton John and Mr. Holmes had split from the group and chose another place of lodging- Caesar's Palace or the International. One of those; I remember Elton having a hard time deciding between the two.

Having unloaded our luggage (Freddie and I had combined our things into one suitcase), we had ridden down to the Strip. I was crashing hard by this point, to the degree that I wasn't really taking in much of the glitter sparkling in this desert oasis. While I would have been content to spend the night in some twenty-dollar motel, Freddie of course had higher standards- but this evening, not so high as to be picky. He was tired, too. We pulled into the first casino I said "Oh, wow" at- namely, the Sahara.

The concierge recognized Freddie right off, but before he could launch into fan mode, Freddie put a finger to his lips. Luckily, this gentleman was no Officer Freeling. He nodded and formed an "okay" sign with his fingers. It was nearly ten o'clock and Las Vegas had only just begun to wake up; to cry "Freddie Mercury" in a crowded resort lobby would not have made things any easier.

Peter, Paul, and Rudy checked in after us, so I don't know how they set their rooms up. As for us, Freddie requested a tower room with two beds. When I realized we were going to spend the night together, again I fretted I would be hampering his fun. Supposing he should desire more than a kiss good night this evening? Regardless of what I wanted to do to him deep down inside, I was hardly the one who could deliver- and I'm pretty sure there's nothing particularly kinky about having sex while five feet away lies a girl who is trying to get some sleep, and is most likely covering her ears to shut out the moans and groans and the winded exclamations about how masterful the moves are.

I leaned up and whispered quickly, "Freddie, don't worry about me, I can figure some-"

Freddie turned with a weary look in his eyes. _Okay, I'll shut up now. Sorry._

Once we were all squared away, Freddie gave Rudy a few last-minute instructions. "...If you would please be ready for my call by around nine-thirty, that would be great," I overheard him say.

We said goodnight to the three other fellows. Rudy smiled when I told him I'd see him in the morning. I'd never seen him smile before. Peter even gave me a little hug; I was beginning to get the impression he felt rather friendly towards me as well.

Or maybe we were all just happy to be alive after that godforsaken flight.

With the bellboy coming up behind us, Freddie and I took the elevator to the twelfth floor. We went a few steps down a hallway that could have inspired _The Shining_ , then Freddie unlocked our room. His silence was beginning to chafe at me. I couldn't tell if it was mild shock or severe embarrassment, but either way it was making me very uncomfortable.

However, he wasn't quiet for much longer. One look at our accommodations decided that. It was a comfortable, nice-sized room, for sure, with red and gold wallpaper, heavy curtains flanking a balcony that overlooked the Las Vegas Strip, with a little kitchen table setup by the window where we could have tea (and coffee, GOOD coffee) tomorrow morning. Against the wall stood an armoire which I found out later concealed a box television; on the desk sat a brochure with the number for the front desk, the room service menu, and a binder full of suggestions for fun and frolic in Sin City.

But the room lacked one very important detail.

"What the- That f---ing twat!" he shouted. "I said, TWO! Not ONE!"

I cringed. He could be quite loud when he wanted to be. But there it was: one king-sized bed and a sofa sitting there as nicely as you please. Honestly, I didn't care. I was absolutely whipped. Jet-lag is nobody's friend; my only wish was to slip into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Taking the time to make a big deal out of one and a half beds sounded incredibly unappealing.

"Well," I ventured cheerfully, "I guess the sofa could be the second bed-"

"But that's not what I f---ing asked for! That g--d--- idiot Yank."

I swallowed a reminder that I was a Yank myself. "Freddie, it's okay, I can take the sofa."

But compromise struck a sour note with Freddie. He wanted that concierge's blood, and he wanted it now. "The hell you will. Where's the phone? I'll fix this."

"Freddie, _stop_."

He whirled and looked at me. I blinked. I hadn't meant to sound so firm; if I had, I probably would have overdone it, and I too would have earned Freddie's ire. But he, though still quite miffed, was listening.

"Please," I added. In supplication, I took his hand. "It's only for one night, right? I like sleeping on the sofa anyway."

Freddie huffed. "I didn't bring you all the way out here to make you sleep on a sofa."

"I'm just telling you, it's not a big deal. I do not mind. I promise."

Freddie rubbed his eyes, shoulders sagging, and let out a deep sigh through his nose. To my knowledge, I don't think Freddie took a single moment to rest since we had awakened after the Heatwave episode. Obviously he didn't really want to go through the rigmarole of changing rooms because of a bed mix-up; he looked more exhausted than I felt.

"All right," he muttered. "If it's really going to be such a hassle, you take the bed, and I'll make do with-"

"No way!"

"Yes way. You will not sleep on the sofa."

"But-"

"No buts. If we're keeping this room, you're taking the bed."

"I don't want the bed!"

"You don't want the bed," he repeated. "Well, why didn't you say so earlier? We could have just stayed in the airport and slept there, saved ourselves some time and money."

"Oh, come on, that's absurd."

"Who needs a hotel? Let's just sleep outside-"

"Good God! Why don't we just frickin' share the bed and be done with it?" I blurted.

Freddie's brows rose. Oh, dang. I hadn't meant for it to sound that way. But I couldn't hem and haw out of this now. The question was posed.

And it had caught him completely off guard. He forgot to be smug, and instead was reduced to bashful stammering. "You, um," he said, almost shyly, "you- wouldn't mind too much?"

My mouth went dry. That wasn't a superstar's response; that wasn't typical Freddie Mercury. Typical Farrokh Bulsara, perhaps, but certainly not Freddie. I had nothing to work with. I cleared my throat, the blood rushing up into my cheeks. "I mean, we've already done that, more or less, haven't we? Slept next to each other, I mean."

"I suppose we have," he purred.

I could hardly believe we were having this conversation. "And um, uh, yeah. So, would that be okay with you? I know you might have, uh, wanted to go find somebody to, uh, enjoy, but it was just an idea."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. I'm just saying."

"I'm ready to go to sleep, if it's all the same to you. So personally, I'd rather stick around tonight."

"Oh, good. Great. Well, then, perfect. I just need you to promise me-"

"I won't touch you," Freddie murmured- a bit sadly, I thought. "I promise."

"Wow," I said. "You really do know me."

"I know that look," he whispered.

"What look?"

"The 'Hands Off' look."

"What look is that?"

"The one where your eyes get as big as golf balls- and your cheeks turn red- and you can't string three sound words together without stuttering about." He sighed again. "My dearest Evie. What are you afraid of? What are _you_ , of all people, afraid of?"

_Me, of all people? What's he mean?_

"Are you feeling all right?" I asked him.

"You are truly the artful dodger," Freddie muttered, his eyes hardening in frustration. "I'm clearly still not getting anywhere, so let's just cut this out tonight."

Before I could reply, there was a knock at the door. "Bellboy! Got your stuff!"

"Cut this out," we did. Till we slipped between the sheets, Freddie had nothing else to say to me. He was nice enough to let me get dressed, brush my teeth and whatnot first, but when I opened the door to let him take his turn he pushed past me without a word, eyes lowered, his body rigid. I wondered if he was regretting this trip now. _Maybe he wishes he'd stayed on with the band; there's so much they probably accomplished today, and he wasn't there to offer his all-important opinion._

After setting my contacts on the nightstand, I plugged the Android into the wall behind the comfy chair and shut it down. Stepping carefully, I felt my way over to the window to draw the curtains. Just outside, the Sahara sign was lit, but my weak eyes only made out a hazy blob of lettering.

"Good night, Desert World," I whispered. "See you for real in the morning."

I drew back the covers and lay down, waiting for Freddie. I turned out the lamp on my side. Quietly I listened to him knock about in the next room. The longer he took, the faster my stomach began to turn.

The bathroom door opened. I looked up. He strolled into my hazy view, casually pulling his shirt off over his head. Without realizing it I bit my lip. I couldn't even see his face and he was making me shake.

Freddie folded the shirt up and set it aside. Thankfully, he had decided to forego his habit of sleeping in the nude and kept the pair of shorts on. Then he turned his eyes upon me. For many minutes he just stood and stared, and it was left up to my imagination what his expression might be. What was there to stare at, anyway? Just me without makeup, in my very self-conscious, button-down striped pajamas. Nothing too engrossing, for sure.

Then he crept over to his side of the bed. I watched him stretch out under the covers, then reach over and turn off the light on his side. Now the room was completely black. Freddie rustled around a bit more, let out a little contented "hmm..." as he situated himself. What cute little sounds he made; I rolled over onto my back, but kept my head turned and facing away from him in an effort not to let him see me smiling so broadly. At last he found his spot, and stopped moving.

The silence was enough to choke an elephant. Not three inches away I could feel the warmth of his body; this big king size bed and he still lay so close to me, so close I could detect that delicious scent of licorice which hung about him.

"Good night, Freddie," I said at last. My eyes having adjusted to the dark, I looked back at him, more than half-hoping for a gentle kiss - or at least a returned "Sweet dreams" or something like that.

In the dark I saw his eyes were still open and focused on the ceiling. He was lying on his back, his lips relaxed, his upturned hand laying limp against his pillow. Freddie turned his head after a moment. Our eyes met; this I knew even as dark as the room was.

That's when he lifted himself up onto his elbow and leaned over me, laying his hand softly against the side of my face. His breathing sounded so odd; it wasn't heavy and sensual, exactly, but it seemed uncomfortable, as though there was something wrapped around his lungs restricting every inhale and exhale. I smiled at him, unsure of what else to do. His hand slid down and touched my lips. I never knew my mouth was so sensitive, but just the soft caress of his electric fingertips sent such a thrill through my limbs. I began kissing the fingers still stroking my face. Freddie had promised to keep his hands off, and yet here I was, egging him on.

_Fingers are nice, Freddie, but I want your lips- for starters, anyway,_ said someone in my head that definitely was not me. 

Now he leaned closer in, pressing his forehead against mine. His eyes closed. I let out a little involuntary sigh, and nuzzled my nose against his in a sort of Eskimo kiss. I wondered just how much further I was going to let this continue.

Then I felt something pressing against my hip. I assumed it was his leg, but I wasn't really paying attention until suddenly his eyes snapped open again. Freddie's jaw clenched, and he tore his hand away.

"You f---ing tease!" he snarled.

Before I realized what was happening, Freddie had thrown back the covers and leaped out of the bed.

"F--- this!" he cried hoarsely.

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

He gave no reply. Instead, Freddie snatched up his pillow, tore the duvet off the bed. Without another word, moving very stiffly, he stormed out of sight. Still carrying the comforter and the pillow, he marched into the bathroom and slammed the door.

I was so confused. _What did I do? And what's_ he _doing?_

After a few more minutes of rustling around, he turned out the bathroom light, but he didn't come out. I heard one more "F---" escape, and all was again still. Suddenly I knew what was happening. And I covered my mouth.

_Seriously, Freddie? What are you trying to prove by sleeping in the bathtub?_

But two could play this game. I climbed out of the bed, a lot less grand now that Freddie had literally taken all the blankets, and laid down on the sofa. I fluffed my pillow and sprawled out across the cushion. My body was too long for it, so I curled up in an almost fetal position. So we went from both in the bed to neither, all because Freddie started touching my face. My cheeks flushing, I realized what I had been feeling a moment ago.

_**NFO: It apparently takes almost nothing to arouse him.** _

_We're tired,_ I told myself, _and we had a bad experience on the plane- especially Freddie. We'll be better tomorrow. I hope._

My eyes closed, and I drifted away. _Ah, yes, it's you again, magenta mist. Okay, let's get the dream over with..._

***********************************************************************************************

My eyes opened after a good hard sleep. I felt rested and ready for another day of conning my way through life. Not to say I didn't have my earthquake dream, because I did. But I'd been through it so often, it had become less and less the stuff of nightmares. Now I was interested to see what would happen next. In case my little depictions of my fog dream are beginning to rub you raw, feel free to skip it. For those of you who don't mind, here it comes:

The first part, where Freddie was preparing to absolutely have his way with me, hadn't altered any. But now I found the scene incredibly hot, while on the _Starship_ I had been mortified at myself for dreaming something like that up ( _Mr. Mercury, look what you've done to me_ ). Then he and the Relic flew over the edge, like before. But then, everything around me paused, and the phone and Freddie hung suspended in mid-air.

The Relic was much closer to me than Freddie was; the shock hadn't projected it quite as far. On the other side, Freddie was holding his hand out to me. Surprisingly, I saw no fear in his eyes even though the chances of me catching him so far out were slim, if not nonexistent. As a matter of fact, he was smiling, inviting me to join him tumbling into the bottomless pit below.

I had a choice.

But before I could make it, I woke up.

Really, what a foolish dream this was becoming. The Relic was gone! It made no sense to keep dreaming about it like it was still a factor. But I also couldn't see myself jumping in with Freddie only to plunge to my death or whatever lay waiting at the bottom.

Nevertheless, the dream was grossly insignificant. It was the real-life Freddie I had to contend with now.

Half-blindness only possessed so much charm; I popped my contacts back in, smiling as everything resharpened, then padded over to the bathroom door. Through the cracks I could see the light was on. I hoped poor Freddie had slept well. This notorious sex maniac, this fey rock god, this beautiful, gifted mess of a man, reduced to something only mere commoners did when absolutely necessary. He had the world at his feet, but he chose to sleep in a bathtub (just thinking about it even now makes me giggle). He really didn't have to do all this to himself, and yet he did it.

I raised my fist to the door, but thought better of knocking immediately afterward. I couldn't bear if he was in a foul mood, for I was the only one around he could take it out on. And I was growing so tired of the inconsistency of our relationship. I liked steady fellows, predictable people, like John Deacon. You at least knew what to expect. Yes, challenging people excited me, but in small amounts. Nine days straight I'd been with Freddie. He wore me out- yet not exactly in a bad way. We were friends one minute, then arch-enemies the next, then absolute best friends in the very next- only to decide we actually hated each other until the next moment when we decided we couldn't stand to be apart any longer.

"He's magic and myth," I heard myself singing. "As strong as what I believe..."

The clock on the nightstand said it was twenty minutes after six. _We're up so early! I guess maybe neither of us is comfortable enough to sleep in. We're here in Vegas for one thing anyway. The earlier we get this show on the road, the better._

Drawing back the curtains, I was met with the most breathtaking sunrise I'd ever seen. The palm trees made lovely silhouettes against the scarlet horizon. In the distance, beyond the scattered twenty story casinos, the great red ball of the sun was just peeping over the rocky hills, casting the warm colors across the sky and spilling a few across the sandy ground, putting the neon glare of Las Vegas to shame. 

Throwing on my dressing gown, I strolled out onto the balcony, leaving the door open. Spreading my arms out, I laughingly sang at the top of my lungs: "Naaaaaaaaaants ingonyaaaaa-ma baghiti babaaaaaa..."

I had no idea the West was this beautiful. But then again, until I'd crash-landed in 1977 I'd never been east of D.C. or west of San Antonio. I'd seen so much, and it was all thanks to that volatile madman in the next room. Freddie had really outdone himself for me. What for? Why me? What was it about me that made him keep me so close? Was it a self-test? A bet? A-

"Was that a call to prayer or something?" 

Speak of the devil. I turned to see a robe-clad Freddie standing behind me. 

My own face turned as red as the rising sun. "Oh, you heard that?"

"Yeah, me and the rest of Nevada," he said, coming further out onto the balcony. And it was all I could do not to smile. Not that I didn't want to be friendly. I just knew that if I let myself smile, a fit of laughter would soon follow. In typical Freddie fashion, he was trying to look thoroughly unflappable, which only made the image funnier. He had apparently just finished lathering up to shave when I broke out into the first part of "Circle of Life"; and suave is impossible to be when one is sporting a beard of white foam swirls.

"Good morning," I said. "Look at that sunrise, isn't it divine?"

He nodded. "I saw you slept on the sofa."

"I did." I realized he was totally oblivious to the shaving cream; he'd already forgotten about it. But I couldn't decide whether it would embarrass him more if I mentioned it, than if I didn't, and let him find out on his own.

Freddie folded his arms. "So that bed just sat there empty all night?"

"I guess so," I shrugged. 

"So. Pig. Headed."

_Oh, really? And you're not?_ Maybe he could stand to find out under his own steam. Certainly he didn't need me telling him this stuff, me being so stubborn and all...

"Well, I figured since you went to sleep in the bathtub, I could go out of my way to make myself uncomfortable as well. Did you sleep okay, by the way?"

"Not too bad, actually. I may have stumbled on something there. It could be the next trend, who knows." The dark circles under his eyes told a different story, however. Despite the offhand comments, Freddie didn't seem any more relaxed than he had been last night. He put his hands on the rail and slouched. We stood awkwardly side by side, watching the sun come up.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he replied.

"I don't know, just- you got so upset on the plane-"

"I was out of control!" Freddie burst. 

"Ah, yes. You are the control freak after all," I teased- but I picked a bad time to be playful.

"Control freak? Really?" Freddie was getting wound up again. "Put yourself in my place. Mortality's never stared me in the face like that- but maybe once before, and that was ages ago. But not like this. My life- your life- everyone's lives in jeopardy because of some loose bolts in the engines. We could have died and it would have been my fault!"

I squinted. " _Your_ fault? What?"

"I pushed for that plane, dear. This whole trip- my idea! If we went down, ultimately, on whose shoulders would the blame fall? Mine! And had you died, your blood would have been on my hands-"

"But Freddie, we didn't go down! Nobody died! We're all r-"

"But we might have!"

"But we _didn't_! Okay? I told you we wouldn't. Everybody's in one piece, nobody's hurt. Now, please, just take it easy. No more panic attacks."

Freddie sighed and stared down at the brightening ground below. A little ways off shone a crystal Olympics-sized swimming pool, itself surrounded by a soft green lawn, sunning chairs, and umbrellas. It looked like paradise- and would stay that way until the baking sun rose to its highest at noon. _That's where I'm headed- as soon as I get this guy under control._ I wished I knew what would make Freddie calm down- and didn't involve the nether parts. 

Then the "aha" moment struck.

I took a deep breath and said very casually, "Do you know what I've wanted to do to you ever since I got here?"

Out the corner of my eye, very slowly, I saw his head turn to face me. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ever since I met you, there's something I've wanted to do," I replied mysteriously. "Shall I show you what it is?"

"Uh..." Freddie hadn't expected this. I can't tell you how fulfilling it is to throw Freddie Mercury a curveball. I felt like I'd outwitted King Solomon.

"I mean, if you're not curious, that's fine, I was just-"

"Show me."

There it was, that old, unabashed authority! It was a start; I took it gladly. 

"Put your head down," I instructed, cracking my knuckles.

"What are you going to-"

"It's a surprise."

Freddie smirked ( _Good, good! We're smirking now, we're making progress)_ and lowered his head, so that I could see the faint double crown hidden under the thick black hair.

"Don't hit me, please," he murmured.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just going to scratch you."

Before he could reply, I put my hands in his hair and began to massage his head. Freddie put his hand on the railing and held on. He gave no sign he wasn't enjoying it, so I kept on, letting my fingernails rake gently against his scalp. I wasn't pulling things out of thin air; this was something I'd wanted to do for seven whole years. I'd always thought Freddie had fabulous hair, and I would have given a lot to know what it felt like to put my hands in it and mess it all up.

"Tell me when you want me to stop," I whispered.

"That'll be in another half-hour, just so you understand."

I laughed. "Do you feel better?"

"Some," he said, and smiled. "You know, now that you mention it, there's something I've wanted to do to you as well."

"No kidding."

"Don't be smart. It's not what you think."

"Then-"

"I want to ask you a question."

"Oh, yes?"

He nodded. "Can I lift my head up now?"

"Of course, of course, here." I took my hands out of his soft black locks. Any improvement in Freddie's mood was good news. I'd answer any question he could throw at me if it meant a full recovery from this funk.

"You ready?" he asked, leaning back against the railing.

"Shoot," I declared.

"Right." He took a deep breath and looked into my eyes. "So who are you?"

"What?"

"Who are you, Eve? Who are you really?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He wasn't smiling anymore. "Tell me the truth. Where do you come from? Why are you really here with me? Who- no, there's a better way to put it- _What_ are you?"

My insides fluttered. "What am I? Freddie, I'm just a girl-"

"Bullshit." There was no savagery in his voice; only determination. He was on a roll now. He started walking toward me. "Just a girl, my ass. How did you know we wouldn't crash? You just looked at your Magic Mirror and sat back, no fear, nothing."

"I don't-"

"How do you just show up in somebody's flat without fiddling with the lock or breaking a window? Why did you say we wouldn't go down 'like this'? If you don't know shit about me like you said you didn't, why- why would you be so sure?"

"Freddie-"

His voice was getting louder. Not even the shaving cream could detract from his rising power. "What did you see in the Towers that made you cry? What did you see in my hand that made you scream? What's going to happen?"

Feebly I tried one last time. "Listen to me, it was pure coin-"

"Don't LIE! Tell me! _Who the f--- are you, Eve?_ "

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _

 

 

 


	42. Who Are You, Part Two

I stood there, speechless.  Here was the opportunity I'd asked for- and now that it had presented itself, I didn't know where to even start.  Intelligent words had betrayed me.  All I could come up with was "Uh..."

Freddie put his hands on his hips, jaw set.  "I can wait.  Take your time."

Another minute passed, which was all the time he was willing to let me take.  His patience was waning fast.   His mouth worked in irritation; his eyes began to flash dangerously.  Freddie might have looked quite intimidating if not for the suds or the warm, dry breeze playing sweetly with his hair.

Still, to keep another explosion at bay, I at last spoke, "I think we should sit down."

We walked back into the dim room, then.  I sat down on the side of the bed, shabby without its pillows or proper covers.  Freddie closed the balcony door behind him, shutting out the sunrise which was now turning the sky a soft, pinky lavender, and plopped down beside me.

"All right.   Who are you and why are you here?" he said again, but much less aggressively.

"Maybe we should call for some tea first-"

"In a minute.  No more stalling.  Who- are- you?"

I swallowed.  "Who- who do you think I am?"

"Oh, Good Lord," Freddie rolled his eyes.

"I only ask so I can get an idea of where your head is.  I want to know how best to put it for you, if there's even a way to do that."

Freddie rubbed the side of his nose.  "First, the real story.  You know who _I_ am, don't you?"

"Well, yeah.  It's been about nine days, I think I ought to-"

"I mean, right from the very beginning.  You always did.  Why else would your boss send you to me?"

_Boss?  Who is my "boss"?  Why does he keep referring to my boss?_   "It was an accident." 

"Ah, yes.  I've heard that before."

"But it's true!"

Freddie looked at me, then sighed, his expression softening.  "All right, let's try a different angle."  He seized my hand- tightly, so I couldn't pull away even if I wanted to.  "Why did you start crying there in front of the World Trade Center?"

"I... Because..."  The truth shall set you free, the saying goes.  Just the opposite; I was feeling more cornered, and more chained down, than I'd ever been in my life.  This went so radically against my Three Commandments, especially the second one, "Never talk about the future."  Already I'd taken liberties with careless out-of-time references; if I defied this crucial rule so blatantly, there would be no point to adhere to the rest any longer.  
  


"Come on, Eve," he pushed.  "We don't have all morning."

"Freddie, this isn't just something I can spit out on demand! It's- it's hard! Don't you understand?"

He blinked.  Something in my voice had touched him.  Even in the first lights of the morning, Freddie's eyes suddenly were full of sympathy.

"Is it that bad?" he said in a small voice.

I shook my head.  "It doesn't matter.  You wouldn't believe a word I say."

"Darling, you would be surprised what I would, and do, believe right now."  Freddie tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.  "Talk to me."

For a moment I was silent, lost in the dark caverns of his eyes.Somewhere deep inside them, I found the strength to begin.  Bye-bye, Three Commandments.  So much for protecting the course of time.

"There's going to be an attack," I managed.

"An attack?  In New York?"  When I nodded, he said,  "What's-"

"Terrorists are going to hijack four separate planes.  Two are going to hit the Twin Towers, send them crashing down.  And people are going to die."

Freddie looked appalled.  "Why didn't you tell somebody?  When will this-"

"In about twenty-four years."

He just sat there, dumbstruck. 

I sighed.  "Think I'm crazy yet?"

 Freddie didn't answer.  "How- how many people, uh-"

"About three thousand."

Freddie swallowed.  "That's so _horrible._ No wonder you-" Suddenly he cut himself off.  "Wait a minute.  Then why-"  His eyes bugged, and his face went whiter than the shaving cream.  "Oh, God."

"What is it?"

Freddie could scarcely get the words out.  "Were you trying to tell me something?"

"I don't follow y-"

"Is that how I'm going to die?  Is that what you were telling me in your oh, so roundabout fashion yesterday?"

I put my hand on his shoulder.  "Of course not!  You-" I started to say, but I couldn't go any further.  From out of nowhere, cruel words attacked my brain, finishing where I had left off: _You don't die like that.  You die slowly.  You die alone. You die unfulfilled.  
_

"Sweet Jesus," I said aloud, covering my mouth while in my head I screamed, _Stop it!  JUST STOP IT!_

I closed my eyes, squeezed the lids together as if to squash such terrible thoughts.  Such a short time ago, I had been so cavalier, so detached, as to ponder his life and all its warts without batting an eyelash.  Back when he was little more than an "exceptional dead guy," a distant dream worthy of admiration but not of any real affection.  Oh, how quickly things had changed.  As frustrating, as mean as he could be at times, he meant so much more now- more than I realized even in this moment.  This big cat, this panther with deadly sharp claws, purring his way into my heart- that is, whatever was left of it that he hadn't yet shredded to bits.

Freddie watched me closely.  Then in a very soft voice, he said, "You know something."  
  


"Know something?" I said.  Why was he taking all this so calmly?

"You know something about me," he repeated, "don't you?"

_I know everything about you,_ I thought to myself.  _I know too much_.

"Supposing I did," I replied.  "Who's to say you'd believe it?"

"You've been right so far."

"About one thing!  The plane!  And it's entirely possible I could have just been trying to make you feel-"

"Good God, Eve, make up your mind!  Do you want me to believe you or don't you?  This little back-and-forth mambo thing is getting a little confusing."

My gaze lowered, studying his jawline and the slope of his narrow shoulders. Freddie placed two fingers under my chin and drew me back up to face him.  

"You saw something in my hand," he said quietly, yet in his words rippled definite fear.  "Don't try and pass it off as, um, as a part of your high.  You saw something, and it wasn't good.  What's going to happen?"

"I don't know what's going to happen!" I cried.  

"Yes you do.  It made you scream."

"It was the concept that made me scream, not the- not the certainty!"

"The concept?"

A light switched on in my head.  I'd stumbled upon a strategy, and a minimally risky one at that. I could tell him in such a way that wouldn't scar him for life, yet I wouldn't be necessarily lying to him.

"When I looked at your hand- I saw two things," I said.  "I saw what's going to happen- and I saw what might happen.  They both frightened me."

"Okay, so, what's _going_ to happen?"  He asked this as if he would believe whatever I told him to be the undisputed truth.   _Why?  Why would he trust me?  I'm just a girl, and one he's called mad at that._

But to hold out on him helped neither of us.  It was time.

I took his hand and ran my fingers along his smooth palm.  I spoke slowly, looking into his eyes.  "In a few years, there will be a- a plague.  A plague of weakness."

His brows knit together, forming that concerned expression again.  "Go on." 

"I say weakness, because it ruins the body's defenses.  Makes one susceptible to pretty much anything.  I don't know all the symptoms, but I know that.  And there's two big ways people catch it.  One way is through needles, like drug needles."

"What's the second?"

I closed my eyes a moment. 

" _Eve?_ "

His voice warned me; I made myself keep going.  "No-holds-barred sex.  Everybody doing everything with everybody."

Freddie was silent.  I went on, "And, uh, it's going to throw the world for a loop.  No one will be expecting it.  And the sad part is, it wouldn't even be as big a problem if people would just-"

"What does it have to do with me?" he interrupted.

He didn't mince words, did he?

"Well, that's where the 'might happen' comes in," I explained.  I sat quietly and let him think about it for himself.

At last he said, "Are you saying I'm going to-"

"I'm saying, you might!  I don't know for sure."   _Okay, now I'm lying.  
_

Freddie scoffed, "So you don't know?"

"No!  That's what I just said-" _  
_

"Then why tell me if you don't even know?"

"Because I don't want anything bad to happen to you, you dork!" I blurted.

Freddie stared at me, his face in seconds wiped of all the irritability he'd been displaying almost nonstop since last night.  He put his other hand over mine, so that it lay between both of his, and leaned forward.

"Evie," he whispered, "did you just say you cared about me?"

"Good grief.  Of course I care about you, Freddie," I said.  "You drive me up the wall sometimes- make that a lot of the time- but I don't want you to get hurt.  If something happened to you I'd never forgive myself."

There was a new light dancing in his eyes.  "You don't need to worry, my dear.  I can take care of myself."

"Yes, I know you can, but that's just the kind of 'not me' attitude that makes a person vulnerable.  What's more, I mean, knowing you..." I trailed off, flailing my hands helplessly.

He frowned.  "Knowing me?  What are you talking about?"

I sighed.  "You're a sex fiend.  Okay?"

Freddie shrank back, suddenly tongue-in-cheek.  "Why, whatever gave you that impression?"

"Oh, please-"

"For your information, I have gone without for the past nine, almost ten days and look, I'm still standing.  My hands don't shake.  See?  Steady as a rock.  Sex fiend.  I mean, really!"

I blinked.  "You're kidding me, right?"

'Which part?"

"Am I to understand that you've been celibate for the past nine days?"

"Aren't you impressed?"

_What do you want, a cookie?  Nine days without making love, big whoop.  I've_ never _had sex, and you don't see me bragging about it!_   

I decided it wouldn't serve me much to ask _why_ he was "going without."  It wasn't any of my business, not even if Freddie wanted to make it my business.  But I did say, "That explains last night, then-"

"Forget last night, I was terribly rude and a bit on the emotional side for reasons you well know- although I do have to say you are driving me crazy yourself."

"Me.  Ha.  You're funny."  However, once more, I'd chosen a poor time to be sarcastic.  

Freddie rose, and spoke sharply, "Darling, you're this beautiful creature with the eyes of a dove and a voice like silk and a body that I can't stop thinking about, and you have the gall to sit there and make fun of me for wanting you?"

I swallowed, struggling to digest his words and not look spellbound in the process.  Yet all I could manage to think was, _Freddie wants me_. _He's not kidding either.  Oh, wow_. 

I began, "I'm not making fun of you-"

"What would your boss say, if he knew how mercilessly you tease me?" Freddie interrupted again.  "Are you trying to trip me up?  That's so unfair."

"There it is again!  Who is my boss?  I've never said anything about my boss."

"Your boss," Freddie said again, as if I was just supposed to know who he meant.  Then, rolling his eyes, he pointed at the ceiling.  "The Lord Above.  God Almighty.  The Man Upstairs.  Your Boss!"

I sat there, feeling as though I'd accidentally skipped a crucial chapter in a mystery novel.  "What are you trying to say?"

"Is my soul being audited or something?  Did He send you down to get the skinny on me, because that's how it f---ing feels sometimes.  I mean, that journal or whatever it is you keep, the Magic Mirror-"

"Is that what you think I am?" I asked.  "You think I'm some sort of heaven-sent tax collector?"

"I think you're an angel.  I don't know what kind.  But an angel, certainly."

I couldn't decide whether to laugh or ask him if he needed to see a professional psychiatrist; some amateur like me had no right handling this stick of dynamite.  "Are you serious?"

"Am I right?"

_He thinks I'm an angel.  I don't believe this.  And I thought I had an inflamed imagination!_ "Freddie, come on, you know better than that.  That doesn't even make any sense!"

"Neither does, you just magically appearing in my closet, or knowing ahead of time that we aren't going to crash- or warning me that there's some kind of social disease about to strike.  So, really, I think it's as reasonable a theory as any."

Opening my mouth, I almost rebuffed him with numerous examples of how wrong he was.  But no such words left my lips.  Instead I asked, "If I'm an angel, then why can't I get back to heaven?"

"The Relic, remember?  You're stuck.  Your wings, shall we say, are broken."

"What does God want with phone technology?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"And- and look, I'm not perfect!  I screw up-"

"Whoever thinks angels are perfect needs to meet Beelzebub.  Or was that too long before your time?"

In surrender I let my hands drop into my lap. Freddie had his mind made up, it seemed.  And it was too early in the morning to start a heated debate over whether or not I was an angel.  Unbelievable.

"So, let's have the truth, darling," Freddie said.  "What's the message?"

"If I was sent to tell anybody anything, it was to tell you that you have, have, have to be careful, be smart, be safe, when it comes to being intimate with a lover."

"How do you suggest I do that?"

"For one, just- oh, and I have to say this, and please don't be angry at me for mentioning it, but- about Paul."

Freddie was confused.  "Paul?  Paul Prenter?  What about him?"

I covered my face a moment, then cleared my throat.  "Just- be careful about him.  I'm not saying, don't be his friend, because I'm sure that guy could use all the friends he can get.  But just be wary of him; he makes me nervous."

"Did the Magic Mirror say he's bad news?"

"He doesn't have to be- as long as you just keep your head about you.  Have fun, yes, have all the fun in the world, but please- you have, have, have to be careful."

"So let me see if I've got this straight: don't get sick, and watch out for Paul.  Sounds simple enough."

"And don't be a suicidal hedonist and eff everything within a three mile radius.  Start there."

Freddie burst out laughing.  "Look, darling, my sex drive is massive, but it's not demented!  I already told you, I've been a good boy lately."

"That's as may be, you need to keep being a good boy- or else I'm coming after you with the flaming sword of justice and the Tommy gun of righteousness, or something like that."

"When I have you with me, I have no trouble being good," he said with a playful wink.  

"Uh-huh.  You still need lessons in good.  And a lot of them."

"I'm willing to learn," Freddie smiled.  "Would you be willing to show me?"

"You wouldn't let me get a word in edge-wise.  You'd be too busy trying to teach me how to be bad."

"Okay, let's make a bargain.  I teach you how to be bad first, then you teach me how to be good.  Deal?"

I smiled and stood.  "I don't want to know your definition of 'bad'- or how far I'd have to go before you decided I qualified."  I gave him a friendly pat and unwittingly touched his chest, which was bare under the robe.  

"You're an angel, darling, not a saint," Freddie said softly, touching my cheek.  "Who said you had to follow the same rules as us mortals?"

"You tempter, you," I said, stepping a little away from him. "You don't fool me an ounce."

However, to myself, I actually agreed with him, _That's true_ , _there was that one movie about Michael the archangel...  
_

Still, I thought to myself, it was already a fruitful morning.  I slid away from reality for a moment.  If nothing else, Freddie was back in good spirits again; we'd had our little talk, and no one was any worse for the wear. True, now he was convinced (unless he was being tongue-in-cheek again, which was just as, if not more, likely) that I was some celestial being trapped on Earth, but I'd warned him of the future. In a roundabout manner, perhaps, but how well do you suppose he would have taken it had I looked him in the eyes and said, "Freddie, in fourteen years you're going to die of AIDS"? If he didn't start crying, I would have. And then Freddie would have hated me, I would have wanted to kill myself, and no one would have learned anything beneficial to themselves...

The sound of Freddie's tightened breathing brought me back to Earth.  I saw the look on Freddie's face, noticed the jaw clench.   With a start I realized I still had my hand on his bare skin- and was slowly, absent-mindedly rubbing it back and forth so that my fingers were sliding through the black chest hair in an unmistakably sensual manner. _  
_

Without a word I lifted my hand away from his body, although now my palms were sweating.  I'd just sent the wrong signal.  Oh, crap.  What was about to happen?  I somehow managed to pull an oblivious mask over my face, and turned from Freddie.

The orange sun had risen well above the horizon by now, and was now only slightly hidden by the hotel towers on the Strip.  To me, that meant it was high time to get a little coffee and tea going.

I picked up the room service menu and waved it around, asking, "You ready for breakfast, Prince of-" 

Freddie plucked the menu from my fingers and set it back down. Before I could ask what that was all about, he took me by the arms and pulled me close to him.

"What is it?" I asked.  "Not hungry yet?"

But his expression suggested he was indeed quite hungry- just not for food.  Freddie's mask of composure was wearing ever thinner; he seemed barely able to contain himself.  My heart pounded.

"Eve, listen," he whispered, his eyes wide.  "This is a purely hypothetical scenario, of course, I was just wondering."

"Of course," I said softly.  "What was the question?"

"Supposing I should ask you- very politely, of course, very properly- to make love to me.  What would you do?"

"Well," I whispered, looking anywhere but his eyes.  "If I was curious, I'd probably ask you what you meant by that."

'By what?"  Freddie said.  "By 'making love'?"  

"Yes, that."

"Would you be curious?"

I smiled and said for him, "Freddie, what do you mean by 'make love'?"

"You know what I mean," he growled.  

"Do I?"

"Stop f---ing around and answer me: what would you do?"

"Um, I'd probably ask, just to clarify:" I leaned in, as if to kiss him, and purred as seductively as possible- "'Would that be plus or minus the shaving cream, Santa Claus?'"

Freddie frowned.  "What? Sha-"  Instinctively he put a hand to his still lathered face, and went absolutely red.  I'd never seen him look so mortified.

"OH MY GOD!" he shouted, running for the bathroom and slamming the door.  In spite of myself, I began to laugh.  I couldn't help it, he'd just overreacted so hilariously.

My laughter only made him more furious.  "YOU COULD HAVE F---ING SAID SOMETHING EARLIER," he shouted through the door, "INSTEAD OF JUST MAKING A FOOL OUT OF ME!"

"Oh, Freddie, calm down," I said through settling chuckles.  I walked over and knocked at the bathroom door.

"GO THE F--- AWAY!" he snarled.

Rolling my eyes, I simply opened the bathroom door to catch Freddie, now robe-less, throwing water on his face and toweling himself dry.  He still hadn't shaved; dark stubble sprouted around his full lips and along his jaw.  Murder returned to his eyes as he cast them upon me, erasing my mirth when they met mine.

"Freddie, I didn't mean any harm," I said.  "I-"

"You could have said something," he snapped.  "That would have been nice."

"You looked so cute," I tried to explain.  "I'd never seen you like that, you seemed so human."

"What do you know about human, Little Miss Perfect F---ing Angel," Freddie muttered.  "You and your good little world where everything is the same and no surprises and nobody ever does anything wrong-"

"Oh, please don't get into another snit, I honestly thought it was cute," I said, this time with a little apologetic smile.  

He whirled away from me and faced the mirror.  He shrugged as he looked himself over.  "Whatever, I'll skip it today," he said to himself.  "I'll go about looking like a lumberjack, but who's going to know?"

He drummed his fingers on the counter, his face still a fine shade of watermelon.  Poor Freddie, he was so embarrassed.  So many times, Freddie had gone out of his way to push me out of my comfort zone, and he expected me to take it like a man; one mention of the shaving cream and he cratered.  _So thin-skinned sometimes.  Good Lord._

When he glanced my way again, I reached up and took his stubbly face in my hands.  "Baby, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to emb-"

His voice was flat.  "What did you just call me?"

Gulp.  _  
_

_Ooh, smart, Julia.  Real smart.  That is my name, isn't it?_   _Julia?  Maybe it is, I don't know._

I took one step back.  "I- I don't know-"

Before I could go further he took hold of my elbow.  "'Cos it sounded a lot like you just called me 'baby.'"

"Oh," was all I said.  Whatever else I planned to say died when our eyes locked onto each other's.  Freddie's embarrassed anger once more shriveled up and dissolved.  What I looked upon now was his now sharply whetted appetite- his insatiable passion, the raging fire going unappeased for more than nine days.  _  
_

_Nine days too many._

I watched his tongue dart out, sensuously slide across his lips.  In my head, I heard a voice shout, _Get out of there, get out, get out,_ and against my own desires I began to pull away _.  
_

But he struck too quickly.

His iron grip clamped down on my arms, rendered me motionless.  He made no pretense of gentleness; Freddie pushed me up against the bathroom wall, almost knocking my head against the towel rack.  But I barely felt it; how could I, when now he was pinning me against the wall with his whole body, his arms snaking tightly around my back and his half-open lips shamelessly attacking mine.  It was a wonder I remembered to breathe.

"Kiss me," he growled between kisses.  "Do it."

I made one feeble attempt to stop him.  "Freddie," I gasped, weakly pushing his shoulders, "F- Freddie, please-"

"Shut up and f---ing kiss me," he ordered.

I felt my will sliding away from me.  Desperately I struggled to get it back.  _No...stop..._ My arms slipped around his neck.  _Stop!_   My eyes closed.  _Oh, God, please, make..._ Freddie began to moan in time with his heavy breathing. _Make him stop... Oh..._

I gave back kiss for kiss.  My head spun faster.  I clutched the sides of his face, the stubble on his gaunt cheeks rough against the palms of my hands.  And as soon as I did, I felt something new- something much more moist than just his lips.  My blood ran cold when I realized.  Freddie was forcing his tongue into my mouth.  

His hands slipped back to the front, reached for the buttons of my pajama top.  Still kissing me, he seized my collar, took hold of both sides as if he was going to rip my shirt wide open.  Just as he was about to try and find out how I looked without a bra-

BAM-BAM-BAM.

Someone was knocking at the door.

My eyes opened.  So did Freddie's.  

Now we heard a voice.  "Loves!  Are you up yet?"

"Yes, Peter, we're up, just a minute," I called back.  

Freddie didn't move, hands still clenching my collar.  So I said, "Are we going to keep Straker waiting?"

I watched his sanity slowly return, the mania in his eyes receding.  Freddie looked down at me- and I was in fact me again, not the brainless bundle of surrender I was headed for becoming- and sighed.  "How many times has this happened?"

"Three?"

"Three times, Peter's cut in on us?"

"I think that's right.  Once at the club, once at Central Park-"

"And now."

"Yup.  And now."

Freddie and I looked at each other, and for no reason at all shouted, just like on the plane, "STRAKER!" then burst out laughing.  It felt good to be us again.  

To myself, though, I said, _That was way too close.  Exciting, certainly. Fabulous, yes.  But way.  Too.  Close.  And Peter may not be around to save me next time.  Don't let it happen again._

I sighed, then pushed him off me.  "Come on, you so-and-so, let's get him."

"Did you count?" he asked casually, meaning the kiss "score."

"Oh, no, I didn't, did you?"

"I think you're at forty now.  Two more, and we can break the average."

"Huzzah, huzzah."

Before I could open the door, though, Freddie checked me.  "You never did answer me, what would you do?"

I cocked my head.  "If you asked me to make love to you?"

"Mm."

"Simple.  I'd pray that Peter Straker was looking for you nearby."

Freddie laughed and rolled his eyes.  "Good God."

"Ask a silly question," I shrugged. "By the way, how are we gonna work the license thing?"

"What?"

"The reason we're here, Freddie!  The bet!  The license!  You know!"

"Oh!  Oh, yeah, that.  We'll work that out in a bit, when the others get up.  The more minds at work, the better.  Straker probably hasn't had breakfast yet.  Would you please grab the phone for us, angel, and get room service on the line?"

"Right-o, my prince."

Freddie didn't verbally react to my new name for him, but he did glance my direction and give me a long, pleased once-over before he received his friend.  It had stemmed from a smorgasbord of partially suitable names that all had one thing in common- Prince of Darkness, Clown Prince of Crime, the Persian Prince, and of course, best of all, Prince Charming.  What with so many princes in mind, it only made sense that he should be one, too.

_And with all that's happened this morning,_ I marveled to myself, dialing room service _, Freddie still doesn't know who I really am. Thankfully._

 


	43. Morning in Vegas

"Hey, Fred, just had this idea for the backing track on 'Ragtime Pian-'" Peter began to say as he sauntered into the room.  But he trailed off once he saw the bed, which looked like we had had a very serious romp upon it.

Shooting a look of surprise at Freddie, he said a little sheepishly, "I can come back in a few minutes..."

Freddie rolled his eyes.  "It's not what it looks like."

Peter held up his hands.  "Hey, each to his own, man, I just seem to remember she's engaged to-"

Before Straker could finish, Freddie pushed the bathroom door open and pointed at his bed-tub. 

"You be the judge," was all Freddie had to say.

Room service picked up at last, and I asked them for some tea and coffee.  Freddie and Peter fed me their desired breakfasts, which I relayed to the attendant, and followed theirs up with mine.

After saying good morning to Peter, I excused myself and slipped into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Pushing the pillow and such out of the bathtub (and making absolute certain the door was locked), I showered in peace. As the warm streams of water rained down upon me, I naturally began daydreaming, playing back in my head the scene Peter had crashed. I closed my eyes, reliving how those last few kisses had made me feel. His arms... That tongue... Oh, God...

_Shame on me. Think of the other people in his life,_ I reminded myself. _What would Mary say? Or Minsy? Or whoever it is he's officially with right now?_

But even that didn't make much sense. If he was in a relationship with Minsy at the moment (that's who I thought he was with, anyway, I couldn't keep track of all his lovers), why did he want me? Why should he be sexually attracted to me, a girl- and one who wouldn't know what to do should he even get that far? _Not that he would. He may come close, but that can't happen. That would make things so awkward, and I don't want to be a link in a chain of loveless sex partners. If I can only choose between friendship and a hot, heavy one-night-stand, I'd rather just be his friend. Problem is, that's not what_ he _wants._

I had no illusions about the phrase "make love." Freddie wasn't saying he was in love with me, because on Freddie's lips, those two words only meant sex. Listen to "Get Down, Make Love" and see what I mean. There's no love there, no sweetness, no kindness, no desire for any long-term relations. It's just raw, unadulterated lust. Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted more than that from a man.

All the same, that didn't mean I couldn't be tempted.

"Again, I can't tell how glad I am you're helping produce the album, Fred," Straker was saying as I stepped out. Freddie had since donned a t-shirt, and was stirring his steaming cup of tea.  He glanced up and smiled, pointing theatrically at the coffee pot.

"Are you a singer too, Peter?" I asked, making a beeline for the coffee.

"Sort of.  I'm a kind of stage actor mostly.  Musicals, you know."

"He was in _Hair_ ," Freddie said enthusiastically, "weren't you, dear?"

"You were?"  I feigned surprise.  "That's so cool!"

Straker nodded, lighting a cigarette.  "I played Hud."

"Did you have a song?"

"But of course!  Mine was 'Coloured Spade.'"

I tried not to react. "Did you, uh- did you say 'Coloured Spade'?  Not sure I remember that one."

Peter needed no further invitation.  He stood and planted his legs into the floor.  Throwing his head around, he launched into the song, which, if you look up the lyrics, is nothing but a long list of racial slurs and derogatory names for black people (written to poke fun at stupid prejudices, that is all).  I sat there stunned and a little nervous, while Freddie clapped along to the beat.  What could I do but join him.  Such a politically incorrect world compared to mine.  So much has changed in forty years.

"So you guys are both working on albums," I said once the song (which Peter sang quite handsomely for an a capella rendition) was finished.  "I hope this little trip hasn't cut into too much studio time for either of you."

"Darling, we've got two more months at least," Freddie said dismissively.  "I needed a little time away anyhow.  To clear my head, you know, so I can focus better later."

"Now, Freddie, there's just one thing I don't quite get," Peter said, sitting back down to butter his toast.  "She's getting married, but she roomed with you- and last night I found you in more than just a friendly embrace.  Won't Mr. Zuckerberg have a bone to pick with that?"

Freddie wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and shrugged.  "Well, I suppose we can tell you what's really going down.  We may need your help."

Straker leaned forward.  "I'm listening."

"I'm trying to weasel out of a bet with Roger.  We have to get a marriage license- an official one- for Eve.  She told him she's married.  He doesn't believe her."

I continued for him, "So I'm getting 'married' so we get the license, and as soon as Roger sees it, we're getting it annulled.  You can annul by mail, but licenses are another story."

Peter blinked.  "That has to be one of the most unwieldy plot lines I've ever heard.  None of the band knows about this?"

"Not one.  Mary doesn't even know," Freddie replied.

"Whoa, that's what I call a secret."

"Yes, and we'd love it if you kept mum about it yourself."

"So how are you going to work this?"

"Ay, there's the rub.  I'd rather discuss it with Rudy -our dear Fail-Safe- when he comes downstairs to the water.  Eve wants to get some sun, so we're talking officially down there.  Oh, yes, that reminds me."  Freddie reached into the nightstand drawer, pulled out a little money, and slapped it into my hand.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"Go get yourself a suit, we'll join you in a little while."

"A suit?  Like a bathing suit?"

"People tend to tan best in those, yes."

"It's too early for a proper tan, Freddie."

"She's got a point, you know," Straker chimed in.  "Besides, proper tans usually mean no bathing suit at all."

"I hadn't thought of that!  Did you have a little skinny-dipping in mind, darling?"

I shook my head.  "I'm not even going to acknowledge that question."

"I saw this delicious little two-piece in the shop near the lobby," Peter said. "Fire engine red, halter top, looked like it was made out of rose petals. Would look fantastic on this one."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Straker," Freddie scoffed. "Eve wouldn't be caught dead in something so scandalous."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes.  Evie's quite conservative, she'll likely go for the most, um- modest, yes, most Victorian, sort of conservative model they have.  You know, where the skirt comes down to the knee and the bust is completely hidden-"

"You, sir, just kill me," I sighed, but in the back of my mind I said, _He's daring me. This is reverse psychology at its zenith. No fair, Freddie! You can't turn my own weapons against me like this!_

But knowing better than to fight him, I slid the money into my pocket with my room key.  "Okay, then, I guess I'm buying a bathing suit."

"Two inches above the knee is all I ask, darling," Freddie said dryly.  "Anything longer defeats the purpose."

"I'll keep that in mind," I replied, sipping my coffee.  _Challenge accepted._  

**********************************************************************************

I dressed- or more accurately, undressed- as quickly as possible. Freddie was not a man to keep waiting. He could spend forever and a day preparing himself- but take one minute too long in getting ready, and watch the furniture fly. (I'm just kidding, I never saw him throw any furniture, just pillows, and most notably a large porcelain vase- but that was sometime later, and had nothing to do with me being slow. I don't even know why I brought this up now. Anyway...)

_I guess Freddie brought a bathing suit as well,_ I mused to myself. _He thinks of everything. All I know is, it better not be a Speedo, or else I won't be able to look at much of anyt-_

I slapped myself. "YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME, ME!"

So shouting, I sighed, pulled off the cover-up dress I'd worn on the elevator ride down, and adjusted my bathing suit. And no, it wasn't the Victorian nightmare Freddie claimed I'd go for.  Far from it.

It was a tiny, lemon-yellow bikini. Even by 2017 standards, it pushed the boundaries; it was strapless, revealing, and so tight and with so much stuff in the cups that I looked much more well-endowed than I actually was.  The suit screamed a lot of adjectives, for sure- but "conservative" wasn't among them.  All I did was sigh. 

_Damn you, Freddie.  Just when I make up my mind to always adhere to the superego, you come along and breathe life into my id.  And I let you.  Why do I let you?_

But the look on his face once he saw me coming would be priceless- and well worth it.Smiling, I applied another coat of red to my lips and fluttered my eyelashes.  Go big or go home, I decided.  When I felt sufficiently risque, I stepped out of the ladies' dressing room and strode toward the pool.

The boys weren't down yet.  But it was a fantastically bright morning, the air hot and dry all around, and the early birds who weren't recuperating from hangovers had swarmed to the water's edge.  There was a sunning chair just waiting for me, backed by a row of palm trees that were good enough not to cast their shadows over it.I stretched out and fitted my round sunglasses over my eyes, lazily watching the men in and out of the pool, their bad seventies' haircuts much improved by the water.A group of young people just one or two years older than me were passing a beach ball back and forth over in the shallower end.  I sat up and looked on, passively rooting for the tubby guy with the red afro. That kid could serve.

_Wonder what's taking the fellas so long?  Time's a-wasting!_

"What is it?" a deep rumbling voice asked from the water's edge.  I glanced down to see a man in his early thirties leaning against the side of the pool.  Water droplets flecked his muscular arms and his rather impressive handlebar mustache, under which he was smiling.

"Oh nothing, I'm just watching the kids over there," I pointed and smiled back.  Facetiously I sighed, "I remember those days..."

He nodded.  "What's your name?"

"I'm Eve Dubroc.  And yours?"

"Call me Sam."

"Hello, Sam." 

"You all alone up here, Eve?"  His very Western accent was a little jarring after over a week of Freddie's posh English. 

"No, I'm meeting some, uh- some friends."

"So am I.  Got a buddy who's shooting a TV movie here in Vegas, thought I'd come up and see him."

I had the feeling I'd seen him somewhere before, in a cowboy hat and boots.  "Are you an actor, too?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I thought so, I know I've seen you before."

Sam and I talked another five minutes like this, just making small conversation, when he hoisted himself up onto the edge and asked, "So what do you do?"

And I honestly had no idea what to say.  What did I do?  I tagged along.  I was a millstone wrapped around the neck of another.  To some extent, Freddie _was_ my sugar daddy, and he wasn't even getting any sex out of it.  Just as I had feared when I lost the Relic, so had I lost my purpose. 

I said,  "Once I was studying to be a therapist, now I - I don't know what I'm doing."

Sam nodded.  "We've all been there."

"No, I mean, I really don't know.  I don't even have a job.  I just- I just am.  I follow this one musician around, he takes care of me, but we're not even lovers.  Friends, yes, but there's this- this wall between us.  I wish there wasn't, but it's got to be there for things to happen like they're supposed to.  And I know that's too much information, but John Deacon's not here for me to vent at him, so I'm venting a little at you.  I'm sorry."

He patted the top of my foot, which hung over the sun chair.  "Sounds like a pretty good set-up.  How'd you land it?"

I shrugged.  "Sort of crashed into it on accident."

Sam chuckled.  "Musician, huh?  What's he play?"

"The piano.  And he sings.  Very beautifully, I might add."

"Anybody I might know?"

"Freddie Mercury."

"Who?"

I smiled tightly.  "I won't tell him you said that."

At that moment a hotel attendant rushed up and said, "Mr. Elliott, phone call for you."

Sam nodded his farewell and shook my hand.  "Pleasure talking to you, Miss Eve."

"It was nice talking to you too," I replied.  "I needed it."

With that he walked away, wrapped a towel round his waist and followed the attendant.  Quietly I watched the muscles in his back bunch and relax as he moved.  Sam ( _Sam Elliott! NO WAY!  WOW!  What was he doing at the Sahara of all places?  Who even cares why?  He was there!_ ) had planted a seed in my mind.  I was stuck here permanently, it seemed, so it made no sense for me to keep sponging off of Freddie.  I couldn't do much on my own, true; but I ought to indeed start exercising a little independence and find myself a job.

I felt a hand descend upon my bare shoulder.  "I suppose you're finished talking to the Marlboro Man?"

Turning, I saw Freddie standing there, svelte in a pair of tight black swimming trunks- not a Speedo, but still relatively short and clingy.  His eyes were hidden by a new pair of sunglasses (his disguise du jour, I guess) but I could almost see the green in his voice. 

"Just waiting on you guys," I said.  "Where are the others?"

"They'll be down in about two minutes or so," he said.  "I wanted to check on you, make sure you weren't in any sort of trouble."

"I wasn't."

"No, you had your nice handlebar-lip cowboy keeping you company," he sniffed.

"Since when did you have anything against handlebar mustaches?" I asked.

"I don't know.  You like them so much, maybe I should grow one."

"Nah, why don't you wait on the mustache.  You're too young."

"Too young?"

"Freddie, this conversation is rapidly deteriorating, let's get to the planning already."

"Come on, then," he grumbled, holding out a hand for me to take it.  As I stood, I saw Freddie look me up and down.  Very quietly, his jaw clenched.

"Is this Victorian enough for you?" I asked spryly. 

Freddie swallowed, then shook his head.  "It's not fair," he complained.  "It's just not fair!"

"Fair's in September, my prince," I sang, with far too much satisfaction in my voice.  I should have saved it for later.  A little too late I remembered how close I was to the water.

One more long look, as he took me all in.  I saw the telltale smirk curling his mouth.  But nine days with Freddie had me trained.  I knew what was coming. 

He charged at me.  But right in the nick of time I leaped out of his path.  Freddie ran out of room to stop himself and he plunged ungracefully into the pool.

When he didn't immediately come back to the top I began fretting.  What if he'd hit his head?  As the seconds passed, still no Freddie.  I freaked.  Oh, no.  I hadn't meant to hurt him!  Terrified, I knelt down close to the surface and squinted. 

That's when his dark form rocketed back up from the bottom and with a wild yell he burst into the air, reached up, grabbed my arms.  I let out a surprised scream that was immediately hushed as he pulled me down into the deep end.  "You dog!" I tried to yell, but sounded much more garbled underwater.  Freddie had too many tricks up his sleeve, and yet I was dumb enough to think I could expect them all. 

He still held my arms, but his strong, muscular legs somehow wrapped themselves around my waist so that as we descended I couldn't slip out of his grasp and head back for air.  My eyes were closed for fear my contacts would be washed away, my lips sealed shut to hold whatever little oxygen I had managed to catch.  Freddie wasn't trying to drown me, was he?

I felt his thumbs gently rub against my eyelids.  He wanted me to open them.  I shook my head, gestured wildly in an attempt to tell him about my contacts.  But he had an answer for that too.  Freddie then briefly pressed his large hands against my breasts. 

My eyes snapped open and I squirmed, for I was running out of air and Freddie was going too far.  But he took hold of my panicky arm movements and pinned them behind my back.  To my surprise, he didn't try to kiss me.  All he wanted was for me to look into his eyes.  So, forced into submission, I did. 

And as badly as I needed to breathe, I felt myself grow calm when I looked at him.  His shaggy dark hair floated so nicely in the water, forming an ever-moving halo; his dark brown eyes burned with an intense and beautiful fire, and I would have marveled at how long and black were his lashes, but neither Freddie nor I was part fish, and we had to breathe.  Like before, Freddie unfastened himself from me and sped us back to the surface.  With a tremendous splash we bobbed into the air, coughing and gasping, our once graceful tresses now plastered against our skulls.

"What the flying f--- did you do that to me for?!" I wheezed, then realized what wretched profanity I'd just hollered.

Freddie grinned and kissed one of the fading red spots on my neck.  "For that," he whispered.

"Just to make me swear," I said.  "I refuse to believe that."

"Not that so much as, it peeled back another layer."

"You make no sense.  I don't have layers.  You do."

"You know what your problem is?"

"What?"

"Everything you think is wrong with me is also everything that I know is wrong with you.  Just switched."

I blinked, brushing his wet hair off his forehead.  "Again, you make no-"

"Really, you two, can you cool it for five minutes?"

That last was Elton's voice. 

What was Elton doing here?  He was staying at Caesar's, or the International!  But I peered up and there he was, arms folded, glasses off, his blue eyes looking very disappointed in Freddie.  But the two of us would not be shamed; our heads high, we took long strides up the steps, breathing deeply.  Everyone was there, all of our cadre was watching us, Peter with his hands on his hips, lips pursed in an attempt to fight back a laugh.

Freddie ran his fingers through his hair, combing it all back and making him look uncharacteristically sleek, and snapped back into default "offhand and pompous" mode.  "What are you buggers looking at?  We need to put our heads together here, we don't have a plan of action and we have to be back in the air heading home by about eight o'clock this evening.  Come _on_ , silly things, get with it!"

I sighed inwardly.  _I like you when it's just the two of us_ , I thought to myself, _even if when we are alone, you're your most dangerous.  Because that's when my feelings for you multiply.  Damn you, Freddie.  I wish you weren't so beautiful._

We all sat down and started planning this final leg of our secret mission.  And then, we would fly back to Queen, back to the cats, back to studio all-nighters.  Perhaps I now halfway considered the UK my home country, and Freddie, my safe haven.  But Sam was right.  I had to start finding my own way.  As beautiful and crazy and generous as Freddie was, I couldn't ride his party train forever.    
  
  



	44. Birdman's Eye View: The First to Know

"Sleepin' on the sidewalk/ Rollin' down the road," Brian sings into the microphone.  From where Roger, the sound guys, and I sit in the control room, he looks just as easygoing as he sounds.  This is a better take than the one before it; Brian's voice is one that needs to warm up a bit.

I have to say, this is probably the fastest any song of his has come together.  We had completed the backing track in a single take, moving along so smoothly that I practically forgot we were recording and let my mind slip away a moment.  For a brief second my focus shifted from "Sleeping on the Sidewalk" to the ticking time bomb that is the Relic, sitting quietly (so far) on the sofa in the control room.  I flubbed the bass line at a few places and didn't even notice.  Fortunately, neither did anyone else when we played it back.  All the same, hopefully we'll get a chance to rerecord it once Freddie returns.  I don't like little slip-ups any more than the rest of Queen.

It's Brian's vocals that are going to take longer.  I can feel it.  He's almost as shy about singing as I am- and I don't sing.  (But trust me, there's a reason for that.)  I can completely understand.  Our front man's a hard act to follow.  Yet even I know Freddie's voice wouldn't work in this almost Bad Company, bluesy sort of song.  

"And Ah sure do wanna go home," he finishes at last in his mock American accent.  It's rather exaggerated, but still reminds me of Freddie's mysterious pet.  As American as Eve- I mean, Julia- may be, she doesn't talk like that.  I wonder where she comes from- where _her_ "home" is.  Again I glance at the Relic.  It won't be much longer before I can find out.  

After the final prerecorded cymbal crash, Brian pulls off the headphones, which made a funny dent in his trademark mop of curls.  

"That one was better," Roger pipes.  

"Let me see," Brian replies through the intercom.  He comes back in and we play the whole thing back.  When it finishes, he nods, satisfied.  "Great.  Just need to record the harmonies."

"Shouldn't we wait for Freddie for that?" Mike, our producing assistant, asks.

Roger shrugs.  "Maybe we should."

But Brian doesn't look too keen on the idea.  "I mean, we could, but it would be nice if we finished the whole thing today, so we could start playing with the production side of it."

I realize what's going on.  This is a tit-for-tat thing.  A song completely of Brian's creation, with no theatrical Mercury trimmings, in exchange for Freddie's own thoroughly un-rock and roll "My Melancholy Blues."

"Then why should there have to be a guitar solo in a song where the guitar wouldn't work?" I mumble.

Brian looks up.  "What?"

Oh, perfect.  Now I have to explain.  "On that jazz song they wrote-"

"They?  Oh, yeah, that girl.  Yoko Revisited."

"You mean, Okoy," Roger corrects him.  He looks a little uncomfortable at the mention of Julia.  I can't help smiling to myself just a bit.

"Whatever.  You were saying, John?"

"I mean, I, uh- I don't really think they should have to include a guitar part, I'm not sure it would work right," I say cautiously.

"But it's already there," Brian protests.

"Well, maybe we just need to redo it, God knows it's simple enough," I suggest.

Roger rolls his eyes.  He's no more crazy about that song than Brian.  "This is such a lot of trouble for a stupid jazz thing.  If it wasn't for Okoy, I'd still say no to it."

"It would sound a lot better if we just slowed it down," Brian says.  "It would still be pretty camp, but at least it would be a little easier on the ears."

As if to prove each of our points, we change out the tapes and play "Melancholy Blues" back.  Listening to it now, it's painfully obvious.  The guitar is unnecessary, and moreover the song seems just a bit on the bare side because of its speed and the lack of harmony.  Julia wasn't feeling well that day, so there are no high harmonies to back Freddie up.  Another take wouldn't hurt, and anyway this is only the rough first cut so no one's tinkered with it yet.

"Slow it down," Brian nods.  

"It needs her harmonies," I think aloud.

"I still don't like it," Roger grumbles.  "But whatever.  I guess that's-"

Bip-bi-bip BEEP BEEP Bip-bi-bip BEEP BEEP Bip-bi-bip BEEP BE-

"What the hell?" Roger asks.  But as soon as the tinny "Ride of the Valkyries" begins, I'm already scooping up the Relic and running out of the control room to answer it.

(Yes, I changed the little song it plays.  That first thing was so very annoying I had to change it.  Fortunately the Relic gives the option of about twenty others, and it was a toss-up between the one called "Simpsons" and the Valkyrie melody.  Yes, I played around with the thing before I went back to bed that night.  And yes, I said "Simpsons," whatever that has to do with anything.  Oh, stop laughing.  If you were me, you would play with it, too!)

When I'm in the clear, I answer the phone.  Again the men on the other end are expecting someone else to answer.  

"Is that you now, Julia?" K asks hopefully.

"No, still John.  How are you?"

"Where's Julia?" the other one demands.  

"She's gone off somewhere!" I answer.

"Where?  Tell us now!" My God. Would it kill K's friend to be polite?

'"I dunno.  It's a secret.  He didn't tell anyone."

"He, who?"

"Her kidnapper," I mutter sarcastically.

"What?  Julia's been kidnapped?"  K is horrified.

I just stand there.  They don't _really_ believe me, do they?  "Uh..."

"That would explain why the tracker's not online," K mutters.  "She's too far away."

The other guy is more to the point.  "Who kidnapped her?  Do you know?"

"Oh, certainly," I say, suddenly feeling mischievous.  "I helped him, you see."

"You _what_?"

"That's right," I begin, when I recall Freddie's theory that Julia is some weird kind of angel (granted, he told me this in the Rolls after the club soiree, and he was still quite solidly hammered, but I can't take any chances).  I immediately begin rethinking my strategy.  If it turns out he's right, I will not be in very good shape after this- and my very Catholic wife will not be pleased.

"Then who did it?" the other fellow asks.

"Before I answer that- and I will," I reply, "I want you to tell me who you are."

"We can't do that," K says haltingly, even though I can hear in his voice he would like to.

"Then I can't tell you who she's with- and where she's gone," I say firmly.  "Goodbye."

"WAIT!  Understand, this is an extremely secret procedure," K tries to explain.  "We can't just-"

"Hold it, hold it, Steve, I've got an idea," the other guy says.  He calls behind him loudly, "Anybody got a phone?  Okay, good, quick, look her up on Google."

I don't understand anything he's just said.  "What's Google?"

the other guy is still focused on the person with the phone, and he's growing angry.  "What do you mean, you don't like Google?"  I hear a strange rush of air- like a crowd gasping in horror.  "Use Bing, then!  Jesus!"

Bing?  Google?  Such strange, childish words, they're using.  I hope I'm not talking to asylum inmates. 

"The clock is ticking, Tim, we've only got another minute left!"  K says.

"Try 1977 Julia Samuels- and throw John Deacon in the search box too," Tim orders.

"Wait a minute!  Why me?"

"We're trying to find anything on the Web that has to do with Julia and you-"

"She's not going by Julia!  I told you!  Everyone here thinks her name is Eve!  Eve Dubroc!"

"Dubroc?" K says, suddenly calm.  "Did you say, Dubroc?"

I'm getting a little frustrated, and so is the rest of Queen.  Roger pokes his head out of the control room and says, "Deacy, what are you doing out there?"

"Can you not see I'm on the phone?" I snap much too rudely.  

Roger holds up his hands and backs out of sight.  "Well, excuse me."

I turn back to the Relic and confirm, "Yes, Dubroc.  It's a name he gave her."

"Eve Dubroc," K repeats.  The wheels are turning.  He's remembering something.  "I know that name..."

"Huh?" Now I'm feeling left out.  "Look, if you want to know her whereabouts, just f---ing tell me who you are-"

"Wasn't that her name?" K's lost in a reverie.  "God, that was so long ago.  Forty years, I think.  Don't remember the guy.  But she- God, I nearly forgot about that.  Yow, how the time fli--."

They're starting to cut out again.  "Hello?" I shout.

"What are you t--king ab---, Ste-?" Tim says impatiently.

"Dubr--, that was i-, I wa- witn--- at her wed-"

"What did you say?" My blood chills.  I dare not assume.

"Maybe that's w--- Good L- no wond- she -ook so famil-"

"You know whe- sh- -s?" Tim is incredulous and choppy.

"Couldn't be sa-  --rson, --at wa- all th- w--- Vegas..."

The one clearly uttered word rattles me.  Vegas?  I automatically start tying things together.

"Would you people just tell me what the f--- is going on?" I holler.

But it's at that exact moment the connection is lost.

However I'm still hung up on the last thing I heard K say.

Vegas?

_VEGAS?_

"John, are you all right?" Brian's voice barely awakens me.

I slowly turn to face our guitarist.  I struggle to calm my features, now screwed up and distorted in shock.  And I had only been kidding last night about Vegas!  That couldn't be what they were there for, was it?  No, there was another reason!  Had to be!  

"I'm coming," I mumble.  "I'm fine."  There was nothing I could say to them anyway.

But the word keeps reverberating in my head.  Vegas?  And how would he know about Miss Dubroc/ Julia/ whatever her name is?

_God, I am so confused...._

 


	45. Anatomy of a Zuckerberg

As might be expected, the plan-out really didn't take too much time, which was just how Freddie liked it. This gave the seven of us the chance to sit down, face-to-face, and work out how today would transpire. Who was splitting up with whom, by what time did they need to be at the airport (John and Rudy were assigned to plane ticket arranging; seeing as the _Starship_ wasn't going back up in the air, we needed to figure out a more public Plan B), and things to that effect.

"And this time, let's stick to the deadline, shall we, Fred?" Elton said dryly, and Freddie gave him a thumbs up and a wink.

We made an interesting sight there by the poolside- the original Suicide Squad tightly (and just a tad uncomfortably) encircling one of the round tables like some sort of King Arthur parody. We would have made quite a cool-looking album cover: Peter in sunglasses, lounging in his chair, hands behind his head; Elton, smoking, occasionally being interrupted by the smattering of fans who approached him, which he handled gracefully enough; "Randy John" meticulously writing things down so as not to forget; Rudy leaning forward, hands folded on the table, making notes on his own mental notepad; Paul, also dragging on a cigarette, listening intently but not so intently as to stop throwing suspicious glances our way- "our" referring of course to Freddie and myself, slowly drying out in the morning sun, me wishing I'd brought my journal so I could write the plan down myself.

Not that I was really even paying much attention. Freddie kept distracting me in two big ways. The first, obviously, because of how drop-dead gorgeous he looked with his hair curling as it sun-dried, his unshaven face, and the way the water droplets glittered on his tan skin. It took great self-composure not to let my hand touch his chest again, or let my fingers get tangled up in that mess of dark hair. 

And apparently, he thought I was worth caressing as well, which brings me to the second distraction.

Whenever Freddie would talk, everything was fine. I could focus, because he was focused. But as soon as Straker or Rudy or somebody besides himself (including me) opened their mouths, a film would slide over Freddie's eyes and he went into auto-pilot. Outwardly, that is. On the inside, he was busy playing a rapidly escalating game of "Can I Help You?"

Within seconds of his eyes going flat, I would feel a hand grip my bare knee. I would clench my teeth, do my best not to visibly react, because that's what he was trying to evoke- a reaction. The first few times he did this, I simply lifted his hand off my knee and put it back in his lap, shooting him an irritated glance. But he learned quickly; when he did it next, he held my hand down over my other knee, so that should I try to stop him again I'd make a scene. So I stopped reacting altogether.

When I sat there like a stone for a few moments, his smooth hand would began rubbing my lower thigh back and forth. My eyes would drift down toward my lap, and I would cross my legs, moving out of his range. It was indeed a reaction, but not the one he was looking for. So, very subtly, he would scoot a little closer and slide his hand under my raised thigh and again rub back and forth, squeezing harder until I could stand it no more and I spouted the magic phrase: "Can I help you?"

But even there, I couldn't win. Not only would I disrupt the group, but Freddie would draw back and look completely oblivious to my outburst. And there was no way could I explain to these guys what was going on, so I would wind up looking like a complete idiot yet again. Mutely, then, I had to endure Freddie's teasing touch.

"Back in the air by eight," Peter mused. "That doesn't give us much time to paint the town, does it?"

"Just means there's very little time to waste, so we'd better make the best of it," Freddie explained.

Elton took a puff, smoke escaping his lungs in little wisps as he spoke. "So tell me about this Zuckerberg fellow."

He asked it so nonchalantly and without a very good segue, so I didn't realize at first that he was addressing me. "Oh! Uh- well, what about him?"

"He's your fiance! Where's he from? What's he do?"

Crap. I didn't think the boys, especially Sharon, would be interested. Now I had to make stuff up. "Well, um- he's Canadian, actually- I met him on a vacation up in Alberta..."

"Alberta?" Freddie repeated, resting his chin in his hand. "How ripping. Never been there, what's it like?"

"It's beautiful," I replied, internally fumbling for a plausible story. "I was on one of the lakes up there, canoeing about and so was he, we crossed paths, and I guess you could say it was love at first sight. As for what Mark does... oh, how do I put this... he's in communications."

Freddie's eyes gleamed. "He's also half-Eskimo, right, darling?"

"Yes, that's right, and- _what_?"

"Isn't that what you told me?"

The look on his face confirmed that he was simply hell-bent on messing me up today. _What did I do to deserve this, Freddie? Is this payback for not telling you about the shaving cream?_ But once again, I rose to the challenge.

"No," I said. "He's a _quarter_ Eskimo _._ His mom is half-Inuit, half Canadian, and she married a German Jewish immigrant _."_

"That's a jumbled gene pool," Rudy remarked, genuinely interested.

"Oh yes. She taught him all the best Eskimo love songs, he's got a great voice. I think you'd like him."

Peter smiled. "Eskimos sing? I thought they just fished and rubbed noses."

"You know, it's just that kind of stereotyping prejudice that makes life so hard for the igloo people," I said dryly.

"Oh, dear me, I don't want to offend the man. Don't tell him I said that, I'm used to my chest without a harpoon scar."

Freddie just grinned and shook his head.

"When's he going to meet you?" Peter asked.

"At six," I said spontaneously.

"I'll be collecting him for her actually," Freddie said. "I'll be his personal escort. Imagine the surprise on his face when he sees this scruffy-looking tart coming his way-"

"I'd like to come along," I offered. "I haven't seen him in forever."

"We've already discussed this, angel," Freddie said just a tad impatiently. "You're picking up the license. Besides, don't you know it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"

"That's true," I hummed. "Just don't want you to get too sidetracked. Are you going alone?"

"I am. Don't worry. I'm tougher than I look."

"That's hardly like you," Elton quipped. "It couldn't be you've got yet another bird in the hand waiting round the corner?"

"I smell trouble," Peter laughed. "Remember, Freddie, he's _her_ fiance!"

"Right, that's good, that's enough," Freddie waved his hands.

"That reminds me," Paul muttered quietly. "I think it's rather odd, you not bringing David, knowing how close you said you two were-"

"David is off on holiday," Freddie said dismissively, "rather like we are now. Anyway, so _-"_

"Or Liza," Paul continued, then gave me something I thought I'd never witness in my lifetime: an intentional smile. "Have you met his Liza, Miss Dubroc?"

"Liza? Who's she?" I asked.

And everyone started laughing- everyone except Freddie.

"She?" Peter chuckled, "Dear Eves, Liza's a _-_ "

Freddie's eyes hardened. "Could we save this for later, darlings?"

"Why? I'm interested, who's Liza?" I tried to look as doe-eyed and innocent as possible. But the name Liza did ring a bell. It was clearly another nickname; Freddie was indeed so fond of giving people nicknames. But for whom?

"We're getting off topic. We'll never get anywhere if we don't iron this out." To Elton he said, "So what's your plan of action, Sharon?"

I thought maybe the "Liza scare" would have cooled Freddie's jets, but it seemed to only ignite them again- and hotter. As Elton took his turn, Freddie put his hand gently on my bare waist and let it rove across my belly button around to the other side. _How is he doing this without the others noticing?_

I felt my very flesh crawl at his touch, his fingertips leaving trails of heat behind. He sighed quietly- as did I, unwittingly, but not so quietly as he. Taking that as a cue to progress even further, Freddie took my hand and slowly pulled it toward his lap-

"NO," I wanted to yell indignantly, but it came out as more of a breathless squeak. But I did jerk away violently, drawing more unwanted attention to myself.

"What's wrong?" John Holmes asked.

"I -uh- I saw a bee," I muttered. "Stinging things, you know. Hate them."

"Oh," he nodded.

I was feeling a little shaky. "Could you guys excuse me for a moment, please?" I said, pushing in my chair and running for my towel. "I need to get dressed anyway, don't want to make anyone wait, see you in a minute."

I knew by getting up and going back to our room, I ran the risk of Freddie following me. But I wrapped myself in my towel and made for the dressing room to put my cover-up back on, ignoring the occasional stranger's stare as I passed. _Gadzooks. What a stupid idea, letting pride take hold again. I really should have gone the other way, bought the black one-piece that would have disappointed Freddie but protected me from being squeezed and caressed under the table._

As I had expected, Freddie glided along just behind me; I knew his step by heart. I whirled on him as soon as we were out of earshot and demanded, "What was that back there?"

Freddie shook his head. "Evie, you don't want to hear about Liza, and I don't want to talk about hi-"

"Forget Liza! I'm talking about you and those big paws of yours."

"Paws?" Freddie scoffed with a little sarcastic smile. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Elton's right, can you cool it for five minutes? Despite what you think, I don't want-"

"Oh, yes, you do want."

"And you decided that, how?"

"Look at what you're f---ing wearing, Eve! Tease, tease, tease! Every chance you get, you just- I mean, you and that towel a few days ago, you in this thing now, you letting it all hang out and I'm supposed to stand there with my hands tied? What would the Boss say?"

_Never mind the Boss, what would my_ parents _say? They raised me better than this._

"Whatever happened before was unintentional- and this, this is me taking you up on a challenge."

"Challenge?"

"You were practically daring me to-"

"Really, darling, are we that immature? Are we still in the age of 'double-dog dares'? I thought angels were bigger than that."

My eyes narrowed, my teeth grinding in frustration. "All right," I managed, "you tell me how I should have handled the situation, and I'll tell you what you would have done."

"You should've -uh, I don't know, just skipped the whole thing and bought nothing at all, if that's-"

"Bought nothing at all? How well would that have gone over?" I then acted out his response, intentionally overdoing the accent, "Evie, darling, I said, go buy a bathing suit, and there you are, just standing in those street clothes, com- _plete_ -ly ignored me, that's so rude. Oh, but then perhaps you couldn't decide? That must be it. Oh my dear, you're such a _helpless_ little thing, aren't you!"

Freddie blinked. "Is that how I sound to you?"

"Not really. Sort of. A little. Not that that's a bad thing-"

"My God, you make me sound like the- the meddling, pushy mother-in-law in all the old Hollywood films."

I shrugged. "Well...sometimes..."

"I get it," he growled, running a hand restlessly through his hair. "F---."

_Is it just me, or are these mini temper tantrums happening more often the longer I'm here?_

"But that's not how you always are! Good Lord, that's only one side of you- and it's kind of cute anyway, so there."

"Cute," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "You at least give me that. I'm cute. Well, thank you so very much, my dear." Freddie turned, mumbling something else that I didn't catch.

"Say what?"

"I said, you're nicer when you're strung out."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're more generous with your feelings- assuming you actually even have any." Freddie slung his towel across his shoulders and stalked away.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the other old ladies, naturally," he said. "I won't be too far behind, so hurry it up."

"It's only nine-thirty, we've got all d-"

"Just go put some clothes on," he called over his shoulder. "And try not to be so f---ing sexy while you're at it. We have Mark to consider, after all."

I couldn't help the grin and blush. "I'll put on the most non-sexy thing I can find."

"Good luck," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I didn't say anything, now off with you, my dear ice sculpture."

So I was off with me back to the hotel room, my head now aflurry with speculation as to what Freddie meant about me being generous with my feelings. What had I said to him at the club? What had I done? 

And what did he mean, I didn't have feelings? I did! I was just very careful about what I chose to show, especially to him. Could it be I was _too_ careful?

_One can never be too careful when it comes to Freddie Mercury_ , I said to myself. _Besides, what does he care how I feel about him? He may want me, and I may want him, but only in a physical sense. Every time Freddie touches me, another little piece of my brain turns to mush. Was it only four days ago I didn't even let him kiss me? Four days, just four days, and now look at him, putting his hands all over me and I'm just sitting there and taking it. Of course, I can't mention any of this to him, I'll just get the same old "You need it" routine. I need to start searching for a new path- and for now, if anything, I should be_ more _careful._

Anyway, what about last night? He saw me break down and openly weep. Did ice sculptures cry? They melted, perhaps, but did they cry? Such an inconsistent little man I was living with. It was enough to drive someone out of their head. 

"Mark Zuckerberg, my Part-Eskimo Canadian fiance," I muttered to myself, dashing into the bathroom to dress in case Freddie should barge in at the wrong time. "You can't make this stuff up." _I need to update the journal, haven't written anything since yesterday afternoon._

Once I had my proper underclothes back on, I pulled on my blue jeans from 2017, but I'd again forgotten to grab a top. On the suitcase just outside the bathroom door lay the red t-shirt Freddie had been wearing last night; I grabbed that and, after lifting it to my nose to inhale that delicious scent (still licorice, but a little muskier than usual after all the running around we did yesterday), put it on for the time being until I could don something else. It was rather tight on him, but hung a little more loosely on me. Add that to my messy damp hair, and you had the definition of "non-sexy."

We would be checking out as soon as Freddie came back and got himself together, so I started repacking. I jackknifed over the comfy chair in the corner, reaching for my Android. Maybe we could do a little roulette or slot machine action before I fraudulently obtained marriage license. 

I was drying my hair and still in his shirt when Freddie came back. 

"Hallo!" I called.

Freddie poked his head into the bathroom, and I smiled. He said something that I couldn't hear over the roar of the blow dryer.

I turned it off. "What?"

"Eve, what did I say?"

"I don't know, that's why I turned this off-"

"No, that's what I said."

"What?"

"What did I say?"

"I don't know!"

Freddie looked at me as if he didn't know whether to get huffy yet again or give up. "My God, it's like talking to a chair sometimes."

"Um... okay..." I looked blank.

With a sigh, Freddie took his towel and rubbed his head vigorously. "My point was, what are you doing in my clothes?"

"It was the first thing I saw."

"What did I say about the sexy connotations?"

I stared at him. "You cannot possibly be aroused by this get-up."

"No, not aroused. I'm interested. You'd know if I was aroused."

I rolled my eyes, and with a little wince of disgust (although deep down, the image now forming in my head I found anything but revolting) was about to turn the dryer back on when Freddie gently took it out of my hand. 

"That's not what I meant," Freddie said. "I mean, you haven't seen me aroused, really aroused, yet."

"Last night-"

"My dear, that wasn't arousal. That was interest." 

"And this morning?"

"Again, that was mere interest. But we were on our way to arousal. There's levels to, um- my process, shall we say."

"Oh, really?" I said, but I felt myself shaking again. _I hope he isn't planning on a demonstration. Good grief, why does it keep coming back to this?_

"There's interest, which you know about," Freddie went on. "Had we gotten any more involved this morning, yes, I would have been aroused. And when I'm aroused," he placed the tip of his finger on my bottom lip, "let's just say you can't stop me. Nothing can."

"I guess you've made a study of this?" I asked this as I realized how much closer Freddie had come to me. 

"And the further it goes," he ignored me, his tone deceptively clinical, "you can't stop yourself, either- even if you wanted to."

I just looked up at him, wondering if he was going to attempt a reprise of this morning. _Good boy, indeed. I don't think he heard a word I said. Oh, Freddie, what will we do with you..._

"But anyway," he said with a shrug, leaning back. "You probably should put on something else. Unless, of course, we're playing opposites today, and you're wearing my clothes and I'm wearing yours. There's that one dress of yours I think might fit me-"

"How well do you think you can win over a guy to pretend to get married if you're running around wearing a dress?"

"You underestimate me, darling," he said. "Although I dare say you're much sexier in my t-shirt than I could ever be in a dress. You naughty thing, taking advantage of my weaknesses." 

"I wouldn't have put this on if I had known it would get you all desirous again," I answered, my American accent momentarily sliding south into a Texas drawl; I pronounced "desirous" as "dezar-uss". "It's just a t-shirt, for crying-"

"What was that?" Freddie's brows rose. "Dezarruss?"

Oh, great. "I meant, des-eye-russ!"

"Yeah, but I heard a very distinct dez-arrrr-uss," Freddie stretched out the word to last three full seconds. 

"I meant to say-"

"Well, honey chile, of course I knew what you're tryin' t'say," Freddie purred in the worst Southern accent I'd ever heard- even worse than Alan Rickman's in _Die Hard._ "What kinda little ol' fool do you take me for, sugar-baby?"

He could play the piano, he could sing, he wrote songs, he could paint, he could draw, he had designed his own costumes, and he was a wizard with the Scrabble board- but the man couldn't do accents.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, you talk like a British version of Marvin the Martian, so I'll take the Steel Magnolia thing, thanks."

"Good God, heaven help the man who does have to put his hand to that license and sign 'Mark Zuckerberg.'" Freddie rummaged around in the suitcase, found a change of clothes and pushed me out of the bathroom to get dressed. "We haven't much time, put on some real clothes or something!"

So I did. Once I was ready I tiptoed back toward the closed bathroom, where Freddie had begun humming to himself. To myself I smiled. It was once more the melody for "Jealousy." Rather early for him to be cooking that song up, I thought; "Jealousy" was a song featured on _Jazz_ , the album following _News of the World_.

I called through the door, "How am I supposed to get the license again?"

"We've gone over this, darling," Freddie said in an impatient singsong voice.

"You didn't explain it very clearly."

"Use your imagination!"

"I'd really rather you be there to help-"

"You won't be alone! Straker will be with you. He volunteered! Two heads are better than one, I always say."

"Freddie, where are you really going? Is it to see Liza?"

"Liza doesn't live here! They're back in London."

"Then what are you playing at, man?"

"I have a few things to do- not the least of which finding a guy who will fit the description of a big, tough, Canadian German Eskimo that can sing."

"Seriously?"

"Would I lie to you, angel?"

"You're crazy," I muttered.

"I'll do it, though," Freddie declared. 

"There aren't many Eskimos in Vegas, I don't think-"

"It'll all work out." Freddie opened the door a crack and peered out. "Trust me. I'll have our Mr. Z by six in the restaurant down below, the one with the Moroccan decor and such. You won't make us wait, will you?"

"Of course not, I'm dying to see who you get." Meet-up by six, "marriage" by seven, all seven of us in the air by eight. This would be close.

"Well, whoever our mystery Mark is, he's already earned my envy," Freddie said, poking his head out a little further. He touched my cheek. 

"How's that?" I said.

"He gets to kiss you, and you'd basically be his pseudo-wife for a certain number of days until the annulment papers come in from the mail and everything goes poof."

"It won't be a real marriage, Freddie. You know that. There won't be anything consummated, there won't be anything promised. Eve isn't even my real name. It's like we're getting married just so he can get his green card or something."

"You'll still have to say 'I do,'" Freddie pointed out. 'You can do that much, right?"

Before I could reply, he placed his hand under my chin, smiled, and pulled my face forward to his. 

But I said, raising a hand to touch his mouth, "Ah, ah, ah. We have Mark- and Liza- to consider, after all."

When I said "Liza," Freddie eyes narrowed and he shut the door in my face. "What a f---ing wonderful world."

There was nothing to do but roll my eyes. "I can't win with you," I sang, bopping my head to a variation of one of several Queen songs I wasn't all that crazy about, yet fit in this moment. 

To myself I finished the line, subconsciously, _but I can't win without you..._

 


	46. Risky Business

"Sir, I must insist," Rudy said for easily the twelfth time in the past ten minutes.  

"You can insist as much as you like, darling," Freddie replied coolly, "but I'm afraid I just haven't the time to listen."  

The elevator doors slid open and the five of us -Peter, Freddie, Paul, Rudy, and I- piled out into the lobby once more.  Elton and his assistant were out doing God-knows-what.  Thanks to Freddie and his hands, I'd missed everything Sharon said he had planned to do, and I really didn't care enough to ask even for curiosity's sake.  We had officially checked out, our bags were packed, and the bed was nicely made up; nobody who might walk into our room now would ever guess the bed was the only thing that wasn't slept in.

"It's my job to protect you, sir-"

"Rudy, what have I told you about calling me 'sir'?"

"Sorry.  Freddie, you pay me to look after you, and you going off like this-"

"Oh, Rudy, stop having kittens."  Freddie playfully flexed his muscles.  "I can handle myself for today.  No one shall suspect."

I smiled.  Rudy was truly concerned for his employer.  I guess to some extent Rudy really was his personal assistant, and a good one, too.  Why didn't anybody talk about him?  I'd honestly never heard of any Rudy Barnes in the books or the interviews done in the mid to late 70's.  Freddie always made it sound like Peter Freestone, aka "Phoebe," was the first.  _So strange.  Something must happen later on to cause a problem.  Huh._

"You know where we're meeting, right?" Freddie went on, talking to all of us.

Paul, who was with Rudy, nodded.  "At the airport, seven thirty."

"And we, at six, at the Sahara restaurant- to meet up with you and Mr. Z," Peter declared.

"Ah, you're so good," Freddie said with a rapturous sigh.

"Remind me again, Freddie, why the two of us can't be there?" Paul asked suspiciously.

"Do you want to be witnesses at the wedding?"

"Not particularly."

"Okay, so don't worry about it.  Peter and I should do quite nicely, I think.  As soon as we get all squared away, we'll head straight for you.  And if you don't see me by seven-thirty, go ahead and get on the plane; that goes for you too, Straker."

"And me as well?" I asked.

"Dear, don't be so silly.  You have to wait for your fiance, and he'll be with me.  I'll get him to you, just wait and see, but if I'm delayed, do be good enough and wait."  Freddie winked.  Something that closely resembled ulterior motives flashed in his eyes.  I forced myself not to ask any further questions.

Rudy sighed and nodded. 

Peter looked much more excited, though.  "Very well.  I suppose we'd better go our separate ways then.  Only so many hours in the day."

With that, we started bidding our mutual farewells.  Rudy again smiled as he shook my hand, this smile a bit bigger ( _Rudy likes me!  I don't annoy him anymore!  Hurray!_ ); Paul was just as limp-wristed as ever, his eyes listlessly wandering anywhere but mine.

I put my hand out for Freddie, who took it, and instead of shaking it, pulled me in for a tight hug, pressing his body close into mine.

"Let's not forget the Z-Man," I whispered, but my arms wrapped just as tightly around him as his did me.

"Ah, yes, good point," he mumbled, then leaned toward my face.  Very theatrically I laid a finger against his lips.

"Careful now," I said.  "Mark's territory."

I saw the frustration reenter his eyes, but his voice remained bouncy and carefree.  "Darling, come on.  The next time I see you, you'll be a married woman.  Are you really going to deny me one last kiss?"

"But Mark's a very jealous-"

"Besides, he's an Eskimo.  All he'll want is your nose anyway- though it's a very cute little nub of one at that."

I couldn't help smiling.  "Oh, all ri-"

His mouth stopped my words yet again, and he held me there for a number of seconds in a very chaste, tongue-less kiss. 

"Would you two get a room, please," Peter snickered as Freddie slowly pulled away from me.  Paul merely watched in silence, hands locked behind his back.  Rudy looked around as if he didn't notice.  _Forty-one_ , I tallied to myself.

"You know what to look for, right?" I said in a much huskier voice than I had wanted.

Freddie didn't look too clear-headed himself.  "Uh- no, actually.  I know where to look, just not what.  Yes.  What am I looking for, darling?"

I paused a moment, then grinned slyly.  "A tall fellow with curly brown hair who looks like a cross between Richard Dreyfuss and Sam Elliott-"

"Oh, f--- you, Eve," Freddie said, pushing me away.

"Well, that's what he looks like!" I explained.  "I think you're the only person in the world who can kiss someone and five seconds later say 'Eff you,' and nobody gets mad."

"Just go get the license, you trollop," he muttered mirthlessly. 

_Nobody gets mad, except you maybe_.  He was rapidly losing his patience with me- and I wasn't helping myself by letting him.  The outburst didn't faze anyone else, however.  Soon enough, Paul and Rudy got into their cab and sped away. 

Freddie hailed his, but just before he clambered in, he shot me one last look.  I smiled cautiously and waved, and instead of a caustic little glare, I received a wink.  In confusion I watched him mouth two silent words: _Trust me._ Then he disappeared into the bright yellow Dodge and he rolled out of sight, leaving me alone with the one and only Peter Straker.

_Trust you. What choice do I have, Freddie?_ I said to myself.  _I have to._   _Right now, you're all I've got._

"So Freddie told me you volunteered," I said to Straker.

"I did," Peter replied.  "Shouldn't be too much of a hang-up, getting the license, right?"

"Yeah, about that."

"Oh.  Will it?"

"See, I don't have any proof of identity.  Any legal proof, that is."

Straker nodded sagely.  Nothing threw this cat off; that was one place where Freddie and he diverged.  "Then we need to decide how we're doing this.  Any ideas?"

"Not so far, Hattie."

"Hattie?  Oh, right, the code names.  Mad Hatter.  Oh, this will be so much fun."  Peter rubbed his hands together mischievously.

I arched my brow.  "Something tells me you've got one, though."

"It's in its development stages, but I think it's got a chance.  But we'd better go now.  The earlier, the better."  Peter scouted and found another taxi across the street, giving me the bare-bones outline of the plan as we hustled over to it.

My eyes were bigger than melons by the time he'd summed it up fully.  "That's so far-fetched.  You really believe that's going to fly, Hattie?"

"Of course not, Harley.  That's the thrill of it."

"Big he- Wait.  Harley?"

"If you're calling me Mad Hatter, I'm calling you Harley Quinn."

My throat went dry.  "Oh, dear God-"

"Isn't that the 'code name' you two decided upon?"

"Were you eavesdropping on us yesterday?"

"Always."

"Yes, that was the name I said, but I didn't mean it as a code name!"

"I think it suits you, actually.  Quite a saucy title indeed for a saucy girl."

"Saucy?" I swallowed. _It's like I've set myself up to fail._

"In the best sense, of course."

I shook my head.  _So I'm Yoko, a stray kitten, an angel with broken wings, AND the very first Harley Quinn.  Per-fect._   But I said aloud, "Oh, all right, today I'll let it slide.  Harley Quinn, though.  I sure hope not."

So we did indeed execute his plan, making a few changes here and there as we went, but we had a heck of a time carrying it all out.  But surely you want to just skip all that stuff and start hearing about Mr. Zuckerberg, you couldn't possibly be inter-

Oh, wait.  You are?  You want to know how we did it- and who we got to help us?

I suppose I should tell that story.  It ties everything else together better.  Okay, let's see.  I'll try to keep it brief- and write with a straight face: 

The original plan was to nab the license early in the day, but the bureau was packed with impatient lovers, young and old, at eleven in the morning.  Peter made the executive decision to come back later- after a little careless fun at the casinos and whatnot. By five or so, he reasoned, the bureau would have calmed down some.  It was Saturday in Vegas after all; the hot time to get legalities out of the way was as early as possible.  There was too much else to do once the sun went down.

So at five, we came back- in very different states of mind than this morning.  Peter was at least four cocktails tipsier- and I was three hundred thirty-three dollars richer.  We had had a pretty darn good time. Not as good a time as if Freddie had been there too- and I did miss him, he made everything so much more of an adventure- but we did all right.  I'd tell you what went on those past six hours, but I choose instead to plead the fifth; what happens in Vegas... you know.  (Nothing naughty went on between us, okay, just don't even go there, if you please...)

Peter Straker was a stage actor- and a serious hambone of an actor at that.  Every clip I've seen of him, he's mugging the shot, stealing the show, making all the eyes focus on him to the best of his ability, even when he's not supposed to be the star performer at that moment.  There's a reason he and Freddie got along so well; like attracts like, and therefore, hams attract hams.  I found this out the hard way- and it almost got us in trouble.

"I'm not so sure about this," I whispered as the taxi pulled up to the Clark County Marriage Bureau, which was surrounded by wedding chapels on every corner.  I could almost feel their eyes through the windows, watching us, praying we would be the next to strike.

"Come now, Harley.  Weak knees so soon?"

"No, I'm just nervous," I whispered.

"Just follow me.  You know what to do."

"Follow you.  Right.  That's what I do best.  I follow."

Paying the cabbie, we started up the steps when Peter said, "Wait.  We need an antagonist."

"What?"

"We need proof.  The third man.  Otherwise we'll look like two mad cuckoos trying to cause a problem.  We need somebody to be the bad guy."

"Oh, you're right.  Rats, Paul would be perfect for that!  And he's gone with Rudy.  Could we recruit a stranger, you think?"

"Don't see why not.  Flash a little bread their way, anyone will come running."

"Ain't that the truth."  I noticed a beaten-up old pickup truck pulling into the relatively deserted self-service gas station on the corner across from us. 

I nudged my compadre.  "How about that guy?" I said.

Peter watched the driver door open and the dusty young man who stepped out from behind it.  Even from across the street, with his face half-hidden under a ball cap, he looked rough and tumble.  Perfect "Tennessee Williams" material, as Straker had described.  Just what we were looking for.

So, very smoothly and inconspicuously, he and I ran across the street shouting "HEY YOU!  YOU IN THE HAT!  HEY!"

The poor guy looked up from lighting his cigarette at these two punchy weirdos charging for him.  On instinct he took a step back against his dirty old truck.

"Mister, hey, I know this sounds crazy," I said breathlessly, "but could you help us out?"

"We'll pay you," Peter added.

The fellow rubbed his smooth face (he at least shaved; everything else was going to pot but his cheeks were clean and fuzz-free) and said, "Uh... Who are you?"

"My name is Eve," I answered carelessly, "and this is Peter.  And we need your help."

"Oh... okay..." The guy spoke very slowly, almost lethargically.  The smoke burning off his cigarette gave off an all-too-familiar odor, and I realized why.  "I'm Steve."

We shook his hand.

"So what are you gonna do?" he asked

We told him, filling in every zany detail so he knew exactly what he was getting into.  His doped-up eyes didn't so much as flinch.  "So what's in it for me?"

"How much would it take?" Peter said.

"Well, I could pretty much use anything.  I'm between jobs- and college is kicking my ass."

Peter offered him a decent sum, and Steve's eyes lit up.  "I can go for that."

"You're in college?" I looked him up and down.

"Yup.  I'm regretting it now.  There's so many people getting into computers, they say I may not find a job so easy.  It's not hard stuff, I'm just... I don't know..."

_I do.  You're distracted.  By pot._   But I couldn't say that.

Peter touched my arm and drew me away from Steve a moment.  "You sure you want to use this bloke?  He's so out of it."

"That's the point.  He has the creepy, slow John Malkovich voice, it'll be perf-"  I cut myself off.

"Malkovich?"  Straker frowned, uncomprehending.  I frowned too, but for a different reason.  Steve did indeed have that slow, soft Malkovich cadence- partly because he was smoking his weed, but suddenly I had the notion that even minus the marijuana, he would speak this way.  I was immediately reminded of the man who'd gotten me into this whole convoluted mess.  He spoke just as slowly and indifferently as-

The gas pump dinged, and Steve pulled the nozzle out of the truck.  He readjusted his hat a moment, the joint clenched between his teeth, and revealed already thinning blond hair above small eyes and a hooked nose.  My flesh prickled and went ice cold.  I knew that face.  It was a much younger face than I remembered, but it was his face. 

Oh, we had to use him.  And now.  Right now.  Oh, God, yes.  We had no other choice.

"We're wasting time, let's do this already," I said quickly, reaching into my pocket. 

"I've got him," Peter said.  "We'll pay you your dues afterward, all right, Mr.-?"

"Steve, I said.  Steve Kurzweil."

I was getting hyper with excitement, and couldn't help but ask, "You don't mind if I slip up and call you K, do you?"

Peter looked at me, and I shrugged.  "Well, even Steve deserves a code name, right?" To Steve I said, "Is that okay with you?"

"Uh... no.  Actually that's outta sight.  Go for it.  K.  Yeah.  Call me K.  So what do you need me to do again?"

*************************************************************************************************

"Are we ready, Harley?"

"When you are, Hattie."

"Let's do this.  I'm right behind you, just give me the signal.  Go!"

I burst into the Bureau, wearing a face that was edged with fear and nerves.  We had to play the parts right, or else all would fall through.

(By the way: _Kids, do not try this at home.)_

There was no line, just as Peter predicted, so I sailed right up to the counter and I said, slathering on a little extra West Texas in my accent, "Hello, honey, I'm here to pick up a marriage license extra quick if you could, please."

"Oh, all right, sure, where's the lucky groom?"

"He'll be in in a minute," I began, and the woman handed me a form to fill out plus another for Straker, I suppose.  It was simple stuff, but then, this was the easy part.  The waters were about to get a lot choppier as soon as I turned the forms back in to her.

I filled out the second form using a fake Social and that fateful name, "Mark Zuckerberg."  When it asked for a middle name, just to gig Freddie, I put "Richard."  I wondered if the real Mark Zuckerberg, the millenial CEO of Facebook, would suffer any because of this crazy little jaunt.

_Probably not_ , I dismissed to myself.  _I bet the guy hasn't even been born yet._

I glanced back at the door.  Even now, I knew Straker was hunched down under the frosted glass window, ear to the slab, listening for the keyword.  _Okay, here goes._

"Here we are," I sang, faking a little nervous laugh. 

"Thank you," said the lady.  "Now, all we need are your ID's-"

"Now, how long is this going to take exactly?" I interrupted her.  "Sorry, I'd just really like to know.  We haven't much time."

"Oh.  Well, once we run things through and such, we should be able to issue the license in a little under ten minutes," she said.

"Ten minutes.  Oh, I hope that'll be enough time.  Mark and I are both in such a _dreadful_ hurry."

The woman cocked her head, concerned.  "Is everything all-"

Instantly Peter burst through the door.  "Eves, honey," he cried a little too emphatically, "we're in trouble."

"He's here?" I gasped.

"Just saw his truck.  Pulling round the corner now!"  He grabbed my arms with such dramatic force I expected his next line to be "Oh, the Humanity!"

"Is there a problem?" the woman asked.

I opened my mouth to say my line but Peter decided it was his turn instead.  He slammed his hands down on the counter and said breathlessly, "He thinks he can stop us.  But he can't, he won't!"

The lady blinked and looked Straker up and down.  "This is your fiance, Miss... Miss Dubroc?"

I nodded frantically.  "My true love, yes, my Mark.  They don't understand our love!  My family, that is."

"Who's in the truck?"

Straker spat, "Her old beau, Angus.  [ _Angus?  You said Anthony before!  Stop messing up the script!_ ]  He can't take that she's in love with me and he'll do anything to keep us from getting married."

The woman eyed the two of us.  "Am I on Candid Camera?"

"You think we're fooling around?" Peter thundered, face contorting in passion of stage proportions.  "Don't you know what kinda world this is?  A hateful, ugly world that doesn't see love as anything more than skin-deep?  Love is colorblind, people aren't.  But Eve and me, we're standing up to the hate and we'll show them.  We'll show them what real love is, but we can only do that if you let us go now!  Angus is probably halfway in by this point!"

The woman looked a little overwhelmed by the speech.  I knew how she felt; we hadn't rehearsed that last bit.  _Whoa, you're good, Peter._

So good, in fact, she forgot to ask us again for some ID.  "Well, uh, then, in that case, I'd better-"

"Oh, yes, do, and quickly!  Angus has a violent temper!" I cried. 

"Do I need to call the police?"

"Oh, no, no no!" We both waved our hands.  "Not unless he starts throwing punches around," Straker added.  The woman shrank back in horror, then hurried off.

I glared at him when her back was turned.  "Punches?" I mouthed.

"We ought to make him a little frightening, don't we?" Straker hissed back.

Another couple came through the door while we stood waiting, watching her work as fast as possible as she processed the information from the forms which we had signed.  In no time, it seemed, she returned with the license.  There were the names- Evelyn Christine Dubroc (Christine I chose out of laziness; that was my actual middle name) and Mark Richard Zuckerberg- printed in all caps across the license, with appropriate blanks left for the date, the witnesses, and the minister himself. 

"Now, just one more thing, and you're all set," she said, pushing the license quickly into my hand.

"What's that?" Straker asked.

"Thirty dollars, please."  She held out her open hand to us, awaiting the cold hard cash.

"Oh, Mark," I sighed in loud ecstasy, while Straker handed over the money, "we did it!"

And right on cue, Steve burst through the door, startling the folks behind us.  "WHAT- GOES -ON, HERE?" he shouted, his methodical speaking making him all the more formidable somehow, despite his rather shambling appearance.

"You're too late!" I cried, waving the license in the air. 

"Love conquers all!" Straker shouted.  "Hallelujah!"  And I'm not altogether convinced that wasn't a line from one of his shows.

The officer on duty looked up and started for Steve when Peter shook his head.  "Familial woes only, sir.  He wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve clenched a fist. 

Now was a good time to split, so Straker and I headed for the exit with Steve in "hot pursuit."  As soon as we'd reached the truck, we all of us burst out laughing.  Straker and I high-fived, and Steve grinned like the fool on the hill.

"Mission accomplished, Harley!" Straker cried.  "Lookit, isn't that beautiful?  Official as anything, and in seven minutes flat."

"That was some fancy footwork there, Hattie.  I knew you were an actor, but I didn't know you were- you know-"

"Well, I do what I can.  God, that was thrilling!  We were this close the whole time to absolute trouble!"

Steve cleared his throat, and we remembered his money.  I reached into my pocket; Straker had paid for the license, the least I could do was pay Steve.  "Sorry, K, that was how much again?"

Handing him his money, Peter and I were about to hightail it for the Sahara when Steve spoke up.  "So what are you guys doing now?"

"Oh, we have to be somewhere on the Strip, I'm meeting my fiance, my real fiance, there."

Steve didn't look ready to give up the adventure just yet.  "You need a ride?  There's room for two in the cabin- and there's always the truckbed."

Peter and I traded glances.  "One second," I said, then we turned away from the future scientist to speak privately.

"Question, Eves," Peter said.  "What's so special about this guy?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. 

"Then why'd you get so excited over him?"

"I don't know.  But I don't see why we shouldn't trust him any further.  He'd be cheaper than a cab. for one thing.  For another, we've already trusted him with some serious fraud, and he is basically in on the whole plot now.  Besides, we might need a getaway vehicle later."  I winked.

"I'm just telling you now: Freddie will not be caught dead in that truck."

"Would you?"

"I don't care that much."

"Then what's the problem?  We'll be taking taxis anyhow to the wedding place or wherever, right?  Freddie won't have to touch the old thing."

"I heard that," Steve called. "Do not put down the Mother Ship, if you please."

Straker eventually agreed, providing K took the truck and washed it before we went anywhere near the Sahara. The dings and the dents couldn't be helped, perhaps, but the dust and grime were easy to fix. I knew it could possibly be dangerous keeping the younger K close. All the same, it felt natural- and he was convenient. He wouldn't remember me, not with Mary Jane helping to cloud the senses.

So we climbed up into the cabin of the truck. With a pop and a wheeze, K's rustbucket of a vehicle came back to life. To myself I wondered how Freddie could possibly top the past six hours just by conjuring a fake Mark Zuckerberg.

_I don't know if he can,_ I chuckled to myself. But to draw to conclusions about Freddie and his Zuckerberg choice now was foolish.

Especially since he _would_ indeed exceed all my expectations, and once again grant me a beautifully unforgettable experience...

 


	47. What a Lovely Way to Burn

We pulled back up to the Sahara.  Despite the rolled down windows, I was almost choking from the pungent marijuana odor that had heavily permeated the cabin.  _No wonder he'll screw the T-Rod experiment up so badly_ , I thought to myself, forgetting a moment I'd had more of a hand in that than he.  _I don't care what any Tommy Chong disciple says, this stuff takes a toll.  God, what a stench._

"I smell like Woodstock," Straker whispered to me as we hopped out of Steve's truck.

I nodded.  "Me too.  Wish we hadn't checked out yet, or I'd go freshen up."  Rudy had our suitcase as well, but I still had my backpack, and with it a few necessities. 

"I haven't, you're welcome to use my room," Peter offered.

"I think I will, thanks."

"Anything else I can do for you guys?" Steve asked hopefully.

"No, K," Straker said.  "You've been of invaluable help to us, though.  Thank you."

And Steve almost looked a little disappointed as he bid us goodbye.  As he was shaking my hand, though, he pulled out a crumpled bit of paper and wrote down a phone number.

"If there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know," he said quietly, handing me the scrap.  "The university's only a few blocks that way, so I'm real close."  K pointed in a vague direction.

"Thanks, K," I smiled, if nothing else grateful for this familiar face- this reminder of my past life still yet to be lived.  "If we need another ride, believe me, you're the first person I'm calling." 

"And if we're freshening up, we'd better do it now," Peter added, tugging me toward the casino entrance.  "Freddie's meeting us in a half-hour."

"Right."  So I waved farewell to K, watching as the now-sparkling clean pickup rolled down the street.  Somehow, maybe it was just a minor premonition, but I had a feeling this wouldn't be our final encounter with young Dr. K.  In the meantime, I was more interested in peeling off the pot smell.  Cigarette smoke, I could handle, and even liked.  Pot smoke was another story altogether- and Freddie would notice.  My fake fiance might ignore it, but Freddie without a doubt would say something.  I figured if I was getting quasi-married tonight, I ought to at least make an extra effort.  I had brought a nice dress along; hopefully it hadn't acted like a sponge too and soaked up the smoke.

I shook my head, still unable to fully accept what was happening.  In Vegas with Freddie for a fake marriage to someone I'd never met before.  No white dress, no ring, no bouquet, but a license, a bridegroom, and witnesses.  All to get out of a one hundred pound bet.  In-sane. 

And yet, so much fun... 

*****************************************************************************************

"He said six, right?"

"That's what I heard."

"Okay.  So it wasn't just me."

My chin rested in my hand, the fingers of my other hand drumming against the table, eyes roving restlessly over the Arabic decor in the House of Lords, the fine Sahara steakhouse.  A smiling portrait of Peter Lawford loomed over us, flanked on either side by his Rat Pack buddies Sammy Davis Jr. and Dean Martin.  I was wearing my maroon wraparound dress, which K's bad habits had indeed spared and Straker was sweet enough to compliment.  He looked quite dapper himself, wearing a smart, gray suit and dark red button down.  My hair was pinned up and my lipstick refreshed, and I would have felt much prettier if I wasn't worrying so much about Freddie.

Straker sighed and glanced at his watch again.  "Maybe he's just running a little behind."

"Forty-five minutes is a 'little behind'?" I muttered.

"He'll probably call the casino at any minute and let us know what's-"

"He should have done that half an hour ago.  Freddie's more punctual than this. I don't like it.  Rudy should have ignored his little rebellion and gone with him anyway."

"Freddie's fine, Eve.  Don't worry."

_Too late for that_.  I was more than nervous by now; my foot tapped anxiously, my heart fluttering, the short glass of vodka in front of me doing little to calm me down.

"It could be, he's still looking for the right bloke," Straker suggested.

"What does he care?  All he has to do is grab somebody off the street, it's going to be blown to bits as soon as Roger sees the damn license anyway."

"Eve, it's, uh, I don't think you understand," Peter said. 

"Oh, yeah?"

"He wants this to be perfect- wants to do this right."

"What for?  I mean, I know he's a heck of a perfectionist-"

"Freddie wants to do you justice," he said, with a strange look in his eyes.  "It means a lot to him- as do you.  But I'm sure you already know that."

I frowned.  "What are you saying?"

Straker grinned.  "He's right; you _are_ stubborn."

"Is that what he told you?" I said dryly.  "Well, you have my permission to relay this message back to him: so is _he_."  I lifted my half-full glass and took a little sip.  I had picked up so many bad habits in the past nine or ten days it wasn't even funny.  (I was only drinking because I was nervous; thankfully, this habit didn't stick.)

Straker watched me.  "Freddie's quite taken with you, you know."

I hesitated.  "Why do you say tha-"

"Because he said so."

"Oh, did he?" I sat back against the plush booth, feeling heat collect in my cheeks.  "Using those exact words, I suppose?"

"No, he, uh, said something a little more emphatic than that, but I really shouldn't be the one to tell you verbatim."

"Freddie and I are physically attracted to each other, granted," I said.  "And I would go so far as to call myself a friend of his.  But that's all."

"He doesn't think so," Peter put in, taking out another cigarette.

"So what does he think?"

"He told me you two have a great deal in common- including but not limited to rather hard-headedness."

I was starting to get defensive.  "I am nothing like him.  He's nothing like me."

Straker smirked.  "I rest my case."

"Whatever," I sighed, pretending not to care.  With that I lifted my glass to my lips and proceeded to drain it.

Freddie's friend struck a match, lit the cigarette between his fingers. And then, he said it:

"I think he's falling for you."

I choked mid-swallow and immediately started hacking.  "Wh- What the-" I gasped.  Straker slapped my back, chuckling until I finally got myself under control.

"And you decided that, how?" I demanded with one more little cough.

"I mean, I think it's fairly obvious myself," Peter said.  "I see the way he looks at you.  He absolutely lit up when you walked into the room this morning.  And no matter what time of day it is, I always seem to catch you two in the throes of passion."

"So he didn't tell you this directly?"

"Well, no."

I nodded.  "I didn't think so."

Peter protested, "But that's not how he does things when it-"

"I can't speak for Freddie," I interrupted flatly, my legs crossing underneath me.  "But as far as I am concerned, we are friends, he's very, very kind to me, and I just so happen to find him, uh, extremely attractive.  But again, that- is-all."  I cleared my throat.  "You see, that's how _I_ do things."

"You say that to me," Straker smirked.  "Would you say that to him?"

"Hattie," I groaned, but didn't answer.  Honestly, I didn't know what I'd say to him.  I wondered if Freddie had put Straker up to such statements to see if they'd get a rise out of me.  _I guess he's just going to have to be disappointed again._

That was, assuming we'd even _see_ Freddie again.  Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes after we'd shared this awkward little exchange, our dear friend was still missing.  The clock was ticking, and Straker would have to be on the plane pretty soon along with the other fellows.  And Freddie- anything could have happened to him.  At this point I didn't care anymore about the license or much anything else, just so long as Freddie returned in one piece.

Peter started noticing how late it was as well.  Stifling a yawn, he remarked aloud, "Good Lord.  You'd better get a move on, Freddie dear.  This plane won't wait for us like the _Starship_ did."

It was at that moment a starched and pressed casino employee approached our table.  "Excuse me, there's a phone call waiting for a, um..."

"How'd you know it was us?" Straker asked.

"Well, if you'll pardon the indiscretion, he said it would be the salt and pepper couple," he replied.  "And you're the only one I saw, so I more or less assumed..."

_That sounds like Freddie, all right_ , I thought to myself, fighting back a snicker.  But had there still been any doubts, what the attendant said next annihilated them once and for all.

"The call was for a... here, I wrote it down... ah yes!  A Miss Kitty Cute-Ass-"

Straker burst out in a fit of his loud cackling laughter.  I blushed even harder than before, and broke down right alongside my partner in crime.   _I can be wearing a lovely dress, made up perfectly, not a hair out of place- and with one line Freddie makes me feel like a burlesque stripper._

But I managed to say, "Well, Hattie, what are you waiting for?  Go talk to him-"

"Oh, no!  He wants you.  I pay attention."

"You sure about that?"

"Undoubtedly.  He said _Miss_ Cute-Ass instead of _Mister_ Cute-Ass."

"You people, I swear," I chortled in spite of myself.  "Okay, Hattie, be right back."

As I slipped out of the booth, I noticed Straker grinning at me, like he'd just made some subliminal point.

"What?" I asked.

"You both do love your nicknames, don't you- Harley?" he said smugly.

The employee's voice had carried across to nearby tables, so that as I moved by them I saw well-dressed men and women chuckling to themselves, eyes on me.  Defiantly I faced forward and lifted my chin.  _I'll get you for this, Freddie- and I'll get you good._

But as I strolled into the lobby to the phone booths, I realized Straker was right; Freddie wasn't the only one who assigned people pet names.   _Maybe we really do have more in common than I thought.  God, that's a frightful notion.  I wonder where it ends.  If it does._

I walked up to the phone booth and lifted the receiver to my ear.  It was times like these that made me appreciate modern technology.

A click, and then my heart swelled in relief at the sound of his smooth, lilting voice- followed immediately by another flush of annoyance.

"Hello? Is this Miss Cute-Ass?"

"I can't believe you," I groaned. "You made him say that in front of a full restaurant of people!"

"Did you laugh?"

"No," I lied, putting my hand over my mouth as if to hide the smile.

"You are such a rotten liar, my dear; it works so well to my advantage," he sang. Even over the phone I could tell Freddie was energized, full of that stage power no amount of complaining would bring him out of.

"Where are you two?" I cried, bringing him back to the more relevant matter. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago!"

"Oh, right," Freddie said. All of a sudden he sounded uncomfortable.

My voice flattened. "Freddie, did you forget?"

"I did _not_ forget!  The _idea_! I just got a little tied up in my other things, and uh, our rendezvous sort of fell by the wayside-"

"So you forgot."  I wouldn't have been so grumpy had Straker and I not spent over an hour waiting for he and Mr. Z.  Not that I was hungry, because we'd shared a little appetizer thing that we both decided was excellent, but I didn't like just sitting around, waiting for something to happen when there was so much we had to do before eight, and now so little time in which to do it.

"Darling, saying I forgot doesn't fix anything.  It so happens I've already taken steps to correct my, um, mistake.  Got the license?"

"I do.  Please at least tell me you found the would-be Mark Zuckerberg."

"Oh, yes!  He's a fine specimen indeed."

"Did you actually find an Eskimo?"

"In the desert?  Come on.  No, but he'll do just fine for our purposes."

"What did you have to pay this poor man?"

"Well, that's the beauty of it, darling.  He's agreed to it, no charge."

"None?"

"None whatsoever."

"Is he there?  Can I talk to him?  I bet he thinks you're crazy-"

"He should already be there!"

"Here? With us?"  I squinted.  "Why aren't you with him?"

"I told you, I got a little tied up in certain things, so he's going to meet you there at Caesar's Palace, and I'll meet you at the chap-"

"Caesar's?  Freddie, we're at the Sahara!"

The line went dramatically silent.  At last, a sheepish: "Oh.  Yeah."

_Did you get into Steve's stash, Freddie?  
_

But instead of flipping out, Freddie simply sighed and said aloofly, "Well, I suppose you'll just have to get a cab and meet him _there_ , then."

"But- but- you're not _really_ just going to leave me alone with the guy?"

"Not really, he's meeting you in the Circus Maximus, there'll be lots of people in there."

"What's that?"

"The auditorium at the Palace.  There's a show tonight- his favorite, Tom Jones, I believe he said-"

"We don't have time to see Tom Jones!" I had raised my voice; people all across the lobby were staring at me, but I scarcely noticed.  "We have to get home- and if you're not there how will I know what to look for?"

"Darling, Mark is harmless.  A passionate man, certainly, but he won't bite too hard, I'll see to that.  Either way, I'll be there to protect you soon enough.  Be at the Palace by seven forty-five.  Mark knows what to do."

"We're going to miss our plane," I said lamely.

"That's all right, we can always catch another.  Circus Maximus, seven forty-five.  And don't be late, or else I'll hear about it and I'll-"

"You'll what?"

"I'll call you up some other time while you're out in public and ask for a Miss Sexy Big-Ti-"

"Oh, good grief."

Freddie laughed.  "Right, dear, I'm going to have to go- oh!  One more thing.  He said he'd be in the very center, so that should help you find him."

_Fantastic.  That really narrows it down._ "Anything else I should look for?"

"You'll know him when you see him," Freddie said cryptically. _  
_

But I sighed.  If he wasn't offering any pertinent info now, he wouldn't do it in another five seconds.  "Okay.  You're the boss.  I'll see you at the final rendezvous then."

"Splendid.I can't wait to hear how you and Straker went about getting the papers and things." _  
_

"I'm dying to know what you've been doing the past six hours myself."

"See you in a little while!  Give Peter a kiss goodbye for me!"

With a huff, I started to hang up the phone when Freddie spoke up one last time.  "Oh, and Evie?"

"What now?" _  
_

"Remember the Mercurena?"

"Yeah?"

"Good."

"What about it?" _  
_

His voice changed all of a sudden.  Very slyly, in a hushed tone, he said, "Just go with it."

"Go with what?"

"No more questions.  Don't think, just do.  You'll see." _  
_

_Click._

That last line had me suspicious.  I didn't like how he'd said it; there were too many strings attached to that tone.  Aloud I said, "What are you up to, Freddie?"  

Nevertheless, like an obedient puppy, I trotted back to Straker and told him the news.  Once again, he wasn't at all surprised, albeit a bit disappointed that he wouldn't get to meet Mr. Zuckerberg.  It was getting late and he had to head for the airport; apparently Peter had something going on that coming Monday and he couldn't afford to miss it.

"But this weekend has been thoroughly fantastic," Peter said.  "Hope everything works out with Mr. Z.  We really have to do this again, it's been mad in the best sense possible."

"Thanks for being such a sport, Straker," I said.  "And by the way, your timing is perfect.  Just thought I'd say that."

"Will you be there at his party in a few days?"

"Party?  Oh, the dinner party he's throwing?"  I remembered the invitations he'd had me address and send off a week or so ago.

"I hope you'll still be around for that.  We'll need a little of you to spice it up."

"Freddie -and you- are spice enough."

"Nice save," Straker chuckled, then bent to kiss my forehead.  I returned the kiss to his cheek.

"Good luck, Harley," he said.  

"You too, Hattie."

He turned, about to walk away when he asked me one final question.  "You've never actually seen him live, have you?  Performing, I mean."

I shook my head.  "Never."  I wondered what that had to do with anything.

Straker nodded, said, "Hm," then with a little wave turned away.

And within moments I was alone again, with twenty minutes to get to Caesar's Palace.  I needed a ride, but I also wanted to save my money.

A light switched on in my brain.  That left one single option.  A risky one, but wasn't anything in this world a little risky?  I hardly knew what it meant to play safe anymore anyway.

I went back to the phone booth and rang the number on the scrap of paper.  After a few rings, he picked up.  I could hear the smile in his voice.  "Hello?"

"Hey, K, it's Eve. I'm calling in that favor..."

****************************************************************************************************

I hopped out of the truck bed, no worse for the wear, with only a thin layer of road dust on my dress.  At least I didn't smell like the inside of a bong.  Brushing it off, I asked Steve to circle around and to pick me and the fellow up when he saw us emerge.

Whistling "Tequila Sunrise" (which was the song Steve had just had playing on his car stereo; he was a big fan of Southern rock judging by what had been blaring out the windows ever since I climbed into the back of the truck), I walked past the flamboyant fountains straight for the entrance into Circus Maximus at Caesar's Palace.

As soon as I was inside, I fixed my hair; the dry Las Vegas wind had not been kind to my carefully pinned bun.  There were posters everywhere advertising the coming acts-  the current one,  indeed, being Tom Jones.

I walked up to the will call booth and asked if there had been any calls for reserved tickets in the past ten minutes.  The man there nodded, then asked for the name.  

"Um," I said cautiously, for I didn't know if Freddie had played any more tricks, "is there one that begins with ...'Kitty'?"

"Mm-no."

"Angel?"

"Uh-uh."

"Dubroc?"

"Ah, yes, there's one for Eve Dubroc right here.  Are you she, madam?"

I nodded wearily.  _I can't keep up with all my names._

I paid for the ticket, trying not to freak out too much when he said the front row seat was only forty dollars.  Front row seat for Tom Jones at Caesar's Frickin' Palace and the ticket cost just over forty dollars.  In my world, you paid at least fifty dollars for nosebleed seats to watch "Weird Al" Yankovic bound across the Winspear stage. (Don't ask me how I know...)

Without much further ado, I walked into the venue, craning my neck to see who was filling the center seats.  I saw a wide range of folks, mostly middle-aged people in suits and dresses.  The occasional young person dotted the rapidly filling amphitheater.  I wasn't too shocked.  This wasn't exactly a show aimed your young, rebellious, teenage demographic- but then, neither was Queen.  I've always felt that Queen was just a little more sophisticated than typical rock music, and I'd always been drawn to things well outside my target zone anyway.  Older music, older movies, older men.  But not too old, of course, as far as being attracted to men went.  I drew the line at fifteen years.  Perhaps even older worked for some ladies, but anything further than that smelled of "trophy wife"-ism to me.

_Aren't I lucky that Freddie fits right within the bracket-_

Before I could finish that wayward thought I reminded myself yet again of all the people who belonged to Freddie at this stage.  Mary.  David.  Liza(?).  The, ahem, flirtations aside, I had no right to him, not when so many others saw him first.  As soon as I got back to London, I had a life to build from the bottom up- a life I could not allow to interfere with Freddie's unless I wanted to screw things over for everyone who came after.

Naturally, my thoughts drifted again to what Peter had told me.  "I think he's falling for you."  For some reason, thinking about it now brought such a lightness to my head.  Supposing Peter was right?

'Well, he isn't," I said defiantly.  "There's nothing of the sort.  We just want each other.  That's all."

Before you write me off as a cold fish with a heart of stone, please understand.  I was, and am, very capable of deep affection.  I was quite capable, trust me, of complete, mad, almost possessive, love.  And if I was not careful, I knew, I could very easily lose my head in very little time.  That's why I was constantly talking myself out of acknowledging the most obvious feelings.  I was wary of affection, especially anything coming from Freddie, because if I allowed myself to believe it was anything more than Freddie's natural affect enhanced by sex withdrawal, I'd find myself plunging down the rabbit hole with no chance of getting my sanity back.

But anyway.

My eyes continued to scan in vain. _I wish he'd given me some sort of defining characteristic, I'm out on a limb here.  Mark could be anybody._

Behind me, on the stage, I could hear musicians rustling in the dark, situating themselves with their instruments, tuning haphazardly.  It was an enormous stage with undulating red velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling, hiding the muted chaos going on backstage.  It was enough room to accommodate a whole orchestra and still leave enough room for Tom Jones's "killer" dance moves.

I slung my backpack off my shoulder and checked my Magic M- I mean, my Android smart phone for the time.  It was already five minutes past eight, and the house was nearly full.  If Tom Jones didn't have an opening act, he would be making an appearance very soon.  And I still couldn't find Mark.  

Suddenly the curtain split, revealing a very confused looking big band set-up complete with horns, saxes, and upright basses.  The lights went up over them, then went out again, then flashed, then went out.  The audience looked on, unsure of whether to clap for the start of the show, or jeer at the tech team's incompetence.

Then all the lights in the house went out, plunging the place in darkness.  And a voice screeched over the loudspeaker.

"We apologize for the delay, Tom Jones will be a few minutes behind schedule," it said.  "In the meantime, please enjoy this... uh...  our special opening guest-"

The microphone cut out there.  Some serious technical difficulties were happening here at the Circus Maximus.  A few happy campers in the back began to boo.  I squinted against the darkness.  I couldn't see any singer.  What was happening?

_This is such a complete waste of time,_ I muttered to myself. _How am I supposed to find the designated perfect stranger in a crowd when I don't have the first clue what he looks like - assuming I can even see him in this darkness?_ Perhaps I had been abandoned for real this time. But again, this was a lot of kerfuffle to just abandon someone.

The lights at the feet of the band came on again.  I was so close I could still see the confusion on their faces.  The clarinet player looked especially put out, and one of the alto saxers shrugged passively.

Without much further ado, the conductor tapped them to attention and the band began to play.  

(I'm inserting this version of the song since it is the closest thing I could find to this Vegas, Rat Pack-esque arrangement, I suggest you just let it play.  Nothing special to see, keep reading.  Ignore the voices, they are who you think they are, just pretend the voice is another, starting at 0:42.)

A lonesome muted horn floated forth, piercing the empty air.  The crowd murmured with interest.  Gradually a sea of strings slipped in underneath the horn.  The stage lights overhead came back on, but stayed dim to maintain the strange magic settling over everything.  My back was turned, my face still toward the shadowy people behind me.  

The audience's murmur rose in volume; a couple of confused people clapped.  At last curiosity got the best of me and I looked at the stage to see the silhouette of a curly-haired man slightly hunched over, standing with his legs slightly apart in a power stance, hands wrapped tightly around the microphone stand in front of him.

It was here the hidden emcee's voice came back and awkwardly stated: "Please welcome, ah- Mark Zuckerberg."

My eyes widened as the audience politely clapped.  _My fiance is the opening act?_

The spotlight shone directly upon Mark's poofy brown curls- not Brian May poofy, more like Napoleon Dynamite poofy.  His face was turned towards his white, stilt-like platform shoes, but he was clearly wearing sunglasses.  He was dressed in all things seventies, and not necessarily tasteful seventies at that.  His wide-collared button down glowed an iridescent orange, and his trousers were a deep red wine hue. 

The upright bass took over, plucking a sultry, sexy beat.  Mark lifted one hand from the stand and snapped his fingers to the rhythm.  The crowd cheered; they knew this song, as did I.  Mark lifted his head, showing that he sported star-shaped sunglasses and a serious handlebar mustache; and his shirt was half-open to reveal a mat of thick black hair underneath that didn't match the hair on his head-

My heart did a back flip.  _Oh no._ _It can't be.  It can't._

And then he started to sing in a chocolate, baritone voice: "Never know how much I love you/ never know how much I care/ when you put your arms around me/ I get a fever that's so hard to bear/ You give me fever-"

I covered my mouth.  I knew that vibrato anywhere.

  _OH MY GOD!  
_

_"_ WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE?!?!" I screamed in complete surprise.  I didn't care if I blew my cover or his, I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

i saw him zero in on me even behind the glasses.  The scream only seemed to egg him on further.  The full lips split into a knowing grin, the teeth well-obscured by the exaggerated fake mustache.  His right leg began to twitch out of time with the beat.  "Fever," he breathed in a forced American accent, throwing his head and shoulders back with the music, "in the mornin'/ Fever all through the night..."

He slid the microphone off its stand and began to move freely about the stage.  At one point he became borderline suggestive, swinging his snake hips and putting his hand almost too close to his crotch, but nobody took offense.  On the contrary, all the women screamed with delight.   The crowd was loving every bit of it; already they were eating out of his hand.

And I was still trying to get past the outfit!  

"Everybo-dy's/ got the fe-ver," he growled, "That is some-thin' you all know-" He reached down toward the audience, and everyone swarmed up to meet him.  Somehow Freddie -or should I say "Mark"- had turned these jaded, strait-laced adults into salivating fanboys and fangirls in less than two minutes while wearing a ridiculous disguise.  I forgot to fangirl myself, at least outwardly; my heart was beating too hard, my eyes too wide, my smile too big.  I was so proud I couldn't stand it. _  
_

_My God, I'm running around with a grown up Ferris Bueller._

The instruments took over for a few bars which allowed him to hop down amongst us mortals and absolutely drive us out of our heads further.  He began teasing the people in the front row.  "Romeo loved Juliet," he purred, "And Juliet, she felt the same."  In time with the words he slipped his arms around one woman and came so close she was sure he would kiss her, then broke away as soon as he sang "Thou givest fever."  At least, I think that was the line, by now people were screaming so loudly I could barely hear him. For a moment I closed my eyes.

And that's when he seized my hand and yanked me violently away from my seat.  I just barely remembered to grab my bag.

Before I knew it I was brushed right up against him and he was singing the next verse about Captain Smith and Pocahontas.  I looked up at him, and he lowered his silly shades, revealing those perfect eyes, and he winked.  _Go with it, he said. Think Mercurena.  Okay, you got it._

He danced us back up onto the stage, still leaving no space between our bodies.  People were really screaming now, as the piano played a few filler notes. _  
_

"Mark" kissed my hand and held it up.  "You like my fiance?" he asked everyone over the music.  They hollered their approval.

"That's too bad," he said back, letting a little British accent seep through, "because she likes me."And again, everyone cheered, poor Tom Jones having been long forgotten. _  
_

I turned at him, suddenly realizing what this meant.  If he was Mark, then...But I couldn't let it sink in just yet, the song had to finish and we had to get out of here. _  
_

"Now you've listened to my story," he breathed _,_ coming a little closer to backstage with every sway. "Here's the point that I have made-" Then he stuck the microphone right under my nose and made me sing the next line: "Cats were born to give chicks fever-" and we sang together quite fittingly- "In Fahrenheit or Centigrade, they give you fever..."

By now my head was spinning out of control.  And the voluptuous, brassy horns pulsing behind us didn't help.  In this moment, under the hot spotlights, I was completely ensnared by this madman who had likely moved heaven and earth to arrange this stupid little performance.  The surreal feel of this whole trip climaxed here as Freddie closed out the song, "What a lovely way to burn/ what a lovely way to burn..."

Everyone was screaming, begging for more as we disappeared behind the velvet curtain and "Mark" led me down a stairway backstage.

We were right in front of Tom Jones's greenroom when I pulled him to a quick stop and turned him around to face me.  

The disguised crazy man smiled and folded his arms.  "So you're Eve, eh?" he said with an attempt at the Canadian accent.

I threw my arms around him and laughed.  "You're nuts!"  I whispered.  "YOU'RE SO WONDERFULLY NUTS!"

"Come on, dear, no time for this now," he hissed, breaking away, speaking in his normal voice.  "We have an appointment in fifteen and have to go before the hordes find us."

"Yes, my prince," I sang.  I didn't know why he was being so standoffish so soon, but I was far too elevated to care too much.  

He pushed his glasses further up his nose.  "Got the getaway vehicle, I hope?"

I grinned.  "I do."

"Then lead the way, Miss Cute-Ass-"

"How about you stop calling me that now?" I whispered.

"I think it suits you awfully well myself."

"All right, then, Freddie, you leave me no choice."  _Don't you worry.  Dr. K's got a perfect ride for us._   _For you._

"What have _you_ got up your sleeve?"

I kissed his rough cheek.  " _Go with it_." _  
_

Freddie's mouth twitched under his fake mustache.  "Can we do a little better than that?"

I began tugging away.  "I thought there wasn't much time-"

"Enough time for this!" _  
_

Then he pulled me close again and  we shared a single kiss, our energized hearts beating rapidly against each other's.  A door opened behind me and someone walked up to us, but we didn't break apart.  I guess we had more time than Freddie suggested.

"Hey, man," someone with a deep voice tapped Freddie's shoulder, "were you the one they were screaming over out there?"

"Mm-hm," Freddie hummed, very slowly pulling away from me, making no secret of his annoyance that we were being interrupted yet again- even if that interrupter was Tom Jones himself. In my head I shouted, _STRAKER!_ (It became a running thing, an inside joke that I still use today; whenever someone interrupts something important, that's what I'll say.)

"You'll be a hard act to follow, you will," Tom chuckled.  "This is one night I can't afford to be shonky.  Thanks for volunteering!" _  
_

Freddie and I waved back as he slipped past us, then looked at each other.  "Where were we?" I asked.

"Running for our lives."

"Oh, yeah." _  
_

And we started running again. _  
_

 

 

 

 


	48. Define "Free"

I wondered why Freddie would worry about the "hordes" when as far as anyone here was concerned, he was only a charismatic unknown with a very poor fashion sense. _Force of habit, I guess_ , I said to myself as we plowed through the lobby. _I'm glad this isn't Japan or I would have been trampled by now. You can't fool the Japanese when it comes to Queen._

We hurried outside, the sky much darker than when I had entered the Circus Maximus. As soon as we cleared the door Freddie pulled us over to the side. "These f---ing things are killing me," he muttered. "I can barely run."

I glanced over to see him take off the vertigo-inducing platforms, and my "fiance" stood before me in his sock feet. And I grinned.

"What?" he said, but there was a little laugh in his voice.

"Nothing, just, if you ever say anything to me about running around barefoot again-"

"I will pay dearly, yes, yes, of course, whatever. Where's the cab?"

"Well, you see, I didn't take a cab."

"What? But you said you had one."

"I said I had a car, not a cab. It's not even really a car, per se- ah, here he comes! He's coming up the drive now."

From behind the fountain Steve's battered old "Mother Ship" rolled into view. Even behind his Sam Elliott 'stache, I could see the blood leave Freddie's cheeks. He took off the glasses in disbelief.

"I do hope you don't mean that old thing," Freddie hissed.

I looked at him. "What old thing?"

"That decrepit rust bucket what's slowing down right in front of us!"

Steve's windows were open, and Freddie's voice had risen with emotion. Even over the loud blaring of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird," Steve heard him.

He stuck his head out the window, thin hair fluttering in the breeze. "Better tell your man to watch it," Steve warned me.

"Meet Steve, Mark," I said. "He's our ride."

But just as Peter had predicted, Freddie wrinkled his nose in pompous disgust. "Not today, not tomorrow, not in two years, not in a million."

"You don't respect the Mother Ship, her captain doesn't respect you," Steve said flatly.

"That's fine by me. Where's a taxi?"

"Freddie, don't be like that, he's a friend of mine," I whispered. "Please make an exception."

"A friend? This bloke?"

"At least, we will be, eventually."

"Will be?"

"It's complicated. But we haven't much time! Come on! It'll be fun!" I hopped in the bed of the truck, and held out my hand to Freddie.

"I'm taking a cab," Freddie said defiantly, standing firm in his socks. And I sighed. Who was I kidding? He was still in fancy-pants performer mode, I realized. It would be a few minutes until he started acting like a human being again.

To his human side I tried to appeal. "My prince, I let you lock me in a traveler's trunk. A TRUNK. For over an hour. Can you stomach a ten minute ride?"

Freddie hesitated, mouth twitching. For an instant I thought I had him.

But then he replied, "That's different."

"Oh, come on-"

"It's an entirely different situation-"

"It is not!"

"Yes it is, now stop arguing and let's get a f---ing cab."

_I'M arguing! Good Lord! You hypocrite!_

I sat in awe of this rare moment. The roles had reversed. He was being the stubborn, stuck-up one, even so soon after the crazy "Fever" number; and I was the voice of spontaneity, urging him to take a chance, to take the fall. _We really are alike- just about different things. Oh, God, this is frightening!_

But that was a matter of speculation I was saving for later. For now, I would fight fire with fire; if the way he handled me in these scenarios worked for him, so would it too work for me. I risked his wrath, but it was only fair to reciprocate. About two hundred feet away from us, a caravan of young people pulled up to the Caesar's Palace entrance- more college kids ready to make the most of summer vacation. Target rock and roll audience. And I had an idea.

I looked at him, my eyelids drooping indifferently. "You're not going to get in the truck?"

"No."

"You're not?"

"No way."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I just said I won't! Now come down from there!"

"I will," I yawned. Kneeling in a ladylike fashion, I leaned over the edge and crooked my finger. "I just need to tell you something important."

Freddie drew closer. And as unceremoniously as you please, I tore off the mustache and the wig. His eyes widened in shock, but before he could say anything I played the fangirl for him at last.

"OMIGODOMIGODOMIGOD! FREDDIE MERCURY'S HERE! EVERYBODY LOOK! IT'S THE MAMA JUST KILLED A MAN GUY! THE SOMEBODY TO LOVE SINGER! QUICK! QUICK! GET HIM!"

And just as I'd hoped, folks came running. I don't think Queen had ever played Vegas before this point, but the young people nearby recognized him anyway- as did everyone else within earshot. "Mama, just killed a man": universally renowned words even then. The doors of the Circus Maximus opened, people on the sidewalk turned, the valet parking attendants grinned. Here came the hordes.

"Oh, you BITCH!" Freddie shouted.

I ignored him. "K, get ready for takeoff," I shouted to our driver.

They were getting closer, and Freddie was getting nervous. "You get out of that f---ing truck right now!"

I held out my hand to him again, whisper-shouting over the insane "Free Bird" guitar solo, "Come with me if you want to live- or else just don't want to sign autographs!"

And this time, against his ego, against his better judgment, Freddie begrudgingly took my hand and clambered into the back beside me, throwing his shoes in first and almost hitting me (unintentionally, I'm sure). He ducked down behind the truck bed walls; no way would he be sighted in such a hideous costume.

"Why do I let you do this to me?" he grumbled.

"I ask that exact same question every day. Let's go!" I called to my former and future K, who swerved the truck around and started heading toward the road. The people stopped running, deciding I'd only been pulling their legs.

As we sailed past the lobby, I saw two men, one in another pair of outlandish tinted glasses and the other, a gentleman with narrow, slippery hands clutching some sort of small package, walking toward a limousine.

"Bye, Sharon!" I cried. When they saw me, Randy John immediately waved his arms around. He was trying to flag us down. So I shouted, "Hey, K, stop a minute." With a quick foot to the brakes, we jerked to a stop.

Freddie started to sit up when I told him, "No, not yet, it's Sharon!"

"F---," he said, sinking back down again. "Don't say-"

"I won't, don't worry!"

"Eve! Where's your fiance?" Elton cried, somehow passing over the fact that I was in the back of a pickup truck wearing a nice dress with my hair falling down around my face.

"He's with me!" I answered. To prove me right, Freddie raised only his hand up and waved playfully. That was my first hint maybe he wasn't as ticked as he let on.

"Oh! Mark, Freddie wanted me to get this to you," John Holmes said, holding out the parcel. "Said you needed it."

"I'll take it," I offered, reaching over the side so he wouldn't see the orange-clad "disco dude" lying beside me. Two arms reached up and nabbed it out of my hands, and he tucked it out of sight.

"Thanks!" came the muffled reply.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a surprise," Elton's assistant winked. Another surprise? _Good grief, Freddie, how many spring traps have you set up for me?_

"Thanks, guys," I said, grinning, "I had the best time with you."

"Pleasure was mine," Elton replied with a bow. "Now go get married to your Eskimo."

"Quarter Eskimo!" I corrected him.

"Whatever. Good luck!"

With that, the truck lurched forward, and I waved good bye. That was the last I saw of Elton John and his assistant.

Now we pulled into traffic, heading for the chapel.

After a moment, Freddie picked himself up and sat against the back windshield. His disguise, the wig and all, still lay on the floor of the truck bed beside the package, so he just looked like himself.

"You all right?" I asked.

"When we get home, I'm going to kill you," he informed me.

"You're all right," I laughed. The night was dark around us, the neon lights rushing past in reverse. The dry July wind blew cooler tonight, and the moon had begun its ascent. I waved foolishly to the cars behind us. I was still higher than the stars, but Freddie hadn't stopped sulking. Fortunately, that changed quickly enough.

Steve decided that he'd heard enough Lynyrd Skynyrd for one day, and switched to his cassette player. "Mama Told Me Not to Come" by Three Dog Night now escaped the open windows. I started to wave my arms around and sing along. Freddie's arms were still folded, but he glanced over at me. _What a fool I must look to him. I don't care. I'm so happy right now, the only thing that could make it twice as good is if Freddie felt just the same._

"Freddie, put your hands in the air," I said between lyrics, reaching my arms over my head and letting the wind thread between my fingers. After a moment, he put his hands up. I watched him wiggle his own tapered fingers against the current. And something in his hard expression changed. Maybe his jaw relaxed, maybe his movements weren't so rigid anymore, I don't know. It was too dark to decide for certain. But there was a difference.

"How's that feel?" I asked him.

"My dear, you are so easily amused," he murmured.

"Then why do you still have your hands in the wind?"

Freddie didn't answer that question. 

 

"It feels free," he finally answered. "That's how it feels."

I patted his knee. "That's a nice way to put it."

"I thought so, too." He sighed. "I tell you, it's a feeling I'm not used to."

_That's an odd thing for you to say._ "Is it a good feeling?"

Freddie looked at me, and even in the half-light I could see his smile. "It's not bad. Not bad at all."

When the third chorus rolled around, it was two voices, not just one, singing and ad-libbing with Cory Wells at the top of their lungs. That was the sign: this snit was over.

Before the song had even ended, we pulled up to the chosen chapel, which was just as gaudy and unromantic as the rest of Vegas. It was shaped like the proverbial "little white church," and it was far enough off the beaten path that no one really had anything to worry about as far as being spotted was concerned. Freddie and I quickly started putting "Mark Zuckerberg" back together again before K hopped out of the truck and saw us. I stuck the mustache back onto his lip, and he adjusted his fake brown curls.

Freddie had just barely slid the glasses over his eyes when the door to the chapel burst open. A familiar tower of a fellow ran out.

Freddie's jaw dropped. "Rudy! What the-"

"I got worried," Rudy explained.

"I said I'd be all right!"

"I know, but that's my job, I'm your bodyguard, for God's sake. And anyway, you need two witnesses, so here I am. Are you Mark? Where's Peter?"

I'd never heard Rudy say so much at one time. _Perhaps he's much more loquacious once you get to know him._

" _He_ went to the airport- like he was supposed to," Freddie grumbled. "So much for a plan."

Rudy finally studied the truck and was aghast. "You came in _that?"_

"Eve's got friends, apparently," Freddie said. "And one of them drove us here. Where do you find these people, darling? I mean really. Rudy, when's our flight?"

"In about an hour, at nine thirty."

"How long did it take you get here?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"We can do that. This time, we have to make it. Everything will have to be on the fly though. Let's do this quick."

As for the second witness, as might be expected, we asked Steve if he would do the honors. He was just barely twenty-three, which made him a legal adult- and he'd been game for everything else so far, so why not?  
  


"Far out," he agreed. "I got nothing else to do, sure. Man, this is the craziest Saturday night ever."

_You have no idea_ , I said to myself.

One of the chapel employees came out and ushered us in, as if we might decide at any minute to take our five second vows somewhere else. They pushed the guest book at us, asked Freddie and me to sign it.

I took the pen in my hand, began to sign. Freddie looked on, interested. "Wow," he said.

I glanced up. "What?"

"I didn't know you were left-handed."

With a shrug I smiled. _There's a lot you don't know about me, Freddie._

I did most of the talking; neither Freddie nor I wanted to chance people recognizing his accent- and his attempts at anything other than his elegant, colonial British came off as too comical.

"We just want to say the vows, we don't need pictures or anything," I said. "Just a very quick thing, is that okay?"

The minister shrugged with a used-car salesman grin. "It's your wedding, ma'am. Would you at least like a certain song while you're saying the vows?"

Before I could say a word, Freddie nodded. Clearly he had a little ditty in mind. I shrugged, said "You pick," and Freddie went over to the selection of 45s they offered. The minister left the room for a moment. My stomach suddenly began to churn as it finally hit me, what was about to happen.

Freddie seemed completely unaffected himself. "This place needs a little updating," he remarked softly. "The most current song they have is this." He held up "The Air That I Breathe" by The Hollies.

"Is that the one you want?" I asked.

"Do you like it?"

"I think it's terribly romantic," I replied.

"Great. Then we'll use that," he said brightly.

"Where are you from, Mr. Z?" Steve asked.

"Canada," Freddie lied.

"Oh. Nice."

As fake as this was, I was still saying "I do." It wasn't real for Freddie, it wasn't real for me. I wouldn't have had these butterflies had Freddie done what he said he would do and found some Joe to play the part. But he hadn't. It wasn't some random guy and me. It was US, though using different names- a personal label, the only thing that kept this silly exercise from turning into a real marriage.

What's in a name? Everything. That's what. And still my heart was fluttering.

The minister came out with a tray of rings and asked us to choose. My knees seemed to get weaker as I stared at the bands. Very cheaply made rings, fake gold, fake silver, it was obvious. Fake as the license in my hot little hand. _Paper roses, paper roses..._

But they were still rings.

I slid one on I thought was pretty -a thin, simple band of faux rose gold. To my surprise it fit perfectly.

"I always like to ask," the minister said to me as I admired the ring on my hand. "How did you two meet?"

"By accident," I began to say. "I just randomly-"

"No such thing as accidents," Steve mumbled from the pew behind me.

I turned to look at him. A future scientist who believes in Fate? "You really think so, K?"

Steve nodded. "There's nothing that happens that isn't supposed to happen," he said cryptically. "Otherwise, it wouldn't happen."

_Ooo, deep,_ I thought to myself, in no mood for philosophical introspection. _Will you still feel that way, K, when you help to develop a time machine? This whole stupid thing wasn't meant to happen! And look! It's happening! Riddle me that!_

"He's right, you know." Freddie came up alongside me and took my hand. "There's no standing in the way of destiny."

The minister asked again, "So how'd you two get together, then?"

"Oh we've always been together," I said dismissively, trying to be blase. "It was a match made in heaven, you might say."

"In other words, she forgot," Freddie laughed lightly. "As did I."

He looked us over. "Funny couple."

The needle dropped onto the 45, and that sweet, slow love song began to play. For some reason that set my spine to prickling.

"Will it hurt?" I asked as the minister opened up his Bible.

"No more than necessary," he chuckled.

In my head a final stream of negations flowed: _It's fake. My name is not Eve. His name is not Mark. We are not in love. We are friends. And we have to get back to England in half an hour. None of this real. It's like a bad dream. This was never meant to be. This is just to show Roger up. We are not actually doing anything that means anything._

Freddie squeezed my hand and took a deep breath. "When you're ready, darling," he whispered.

I nodded. "Okay, let's do this. Go."

***********************************************************************************************

We ran out of the chapel with thirty minutes to get to the airport and onto the plane. I was holding the signed, live license as tightly as possible without crumpling it, and both Freddie and I were trying unsuccessfully to dodge the rice being thrown over our heads. Ah, tradition.

"Don't let it blow away!" Freddie kept saying, as if I had any desire to go through all this rigmarole again. I had had a lot of fun the past two days, but I was tired. And so was he.

The vows went smoothly enough, and it was clear nobody on our end was taking this seriously. In fact, when the "I dos" had choked out of us and it was time to seal it with a kiss, Freddie leaned in and rubbed noses with me.

When the minister looked on, certain of our insanity, I shrugged and explained, "He's an Eskimo."

The minister signed and dated the license, and there was our evidence. Eve Dubroc was married to Mark Zuckerberg- two people who did not exist, at least not yet. But now Freddie had his proof, and now he could get back to work.

Mission accomplished.

Rudy climbed into his cab, our one piece of luggage in hand. And to everybody's shock, Freddie whirled to face Steve and said, "Do you know where the airport is?"

"Uh, sure, yeah-"

"Good, can you do us one more favor and give us a lift to McCarran International?"

"Fr- uh, Mark, there's a cab right there!" I said.

"Yes, but there's a truck right _here_ \- and it's a beautiful night," he answered.

I took his glasses off to make sure it was still Freddie under that disguise, because that hardly sounded like him. But the dark eyes behind the star lenses shone in earnest.

"I'm up for it if you are," I shrugged.

Steve decided he could squeeze in one more ride for the two of us, especially since Freddie was offering money this time. But Rudy was still all but nonplussed. 

"Darling, it's fine," Freddie crooned. "We're going to the same place anyway, so what's the issue?"

Rudy thought better of pushing, and started to close the door when Freddie stopped him and pulled out the suitcase one more time. He drew out a random change of clothes, spoke a final time to Rudy, saying things I couldn't catch. And once he bid his driver farewell, this time it was Freddie who climbed into the truckbed and held out his hand to _me._

I stared at him. "Are you feeling well?"

"No, it was that Eskimo kiss, just went right to my head," he quipped. "Come along, dear. We have a plane to catch."

And the next thing I knew, we were swooping down the highway with that blanket of night spread over us, now dusted heavily with twinkling stars. 

Opening my backpack, I stuck the license between the pages of my journal to keep it from getting wrinkled or ripped. I looked at the small brown parcel by Freddie's side. "What's in the package, Freddie?"

"I'll show you when we get to the airport, for now help me out of these horrid things."

"Help you undress?"

"I just need to change. I am not going anywhere else looking like this- certainly not back home, spend twelve hours on a plane sitting there begging for people to stare."

So Freddie changed clothes with me helping him where necessary, while Steve's truck did at least fifty-five down the highway. My pinned up hair now looked like a bird's nest, but I hardly compared with Freddie as he struggled out of his trousers and ripped off his shirt, throwing both over the side of the moving truck to show how much he enjoyed that get-up.

K could see the goings-on in the rearview mirror. He called while we were at a stop, "Look, I know love burns hot, but could you guys maybe save the honey for the honeymoon?"

Freddie just laughed. Before we were on the road too long, however, he had shed his disguise completely and donned his other clothes, and we reclined ourselves comfortably in the truckbed, staring out at the night rushing behind us. I let Freddie slip his arms round my waist and pull me in close, so that he had his back to the cabin and I was leaning in against his chest.

"Bella luna," I whispered aloud in an Italian accent. And it was a gorgeous moon hanging over our heads. Steve's music wasn't playing so loudly now, his soft Southern rock now a mere hum of ambient noise under the rumbling of his truck.

"If you had wanted to take the cab with Rudy, that would have been fine," I said.

"I didn't want to take the cab," Freddie replied. 

"Why not?"

"This is more fun."

"Seriously?"

"Why not? I'm easy with anything-"

"Here comes the crap." I covered my head, pretended to inch away.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want to get struck by lightning."

He snickered. "Darling, sometimes it takes me a minute to get used to the idea. And now, I'm used to it. Forget limousines. I think I'll ride up to every concert in the back of a truck. I'll look like I've been holding my head out an airplane window, but I'll feel good."

"I thought I was the easily amused one."

"I said you _are_. I didn't say I'm _not_."

Shaking my head, I said, "You can be such a twerp sometimes."

He snickered. "I love you too, Eve."

I rolled my eyes, as he'd spoken in the same sarcastic tone as before. My feet tapped against the truck floor to the beat of the music.

Freddie laid his cheek against mine. Involuntarily I closed my eyes, twiddled with the ring on my finger, a small part of me sad that its symbolism for us was lost.

"Can I just tell you that these past few days, I've had the time of my life?" I said quietly. "That song you sang for me was the perfect ending."

"Thank you, dear." His voice was soft as well. "It's been the same for me."

"Oh, you-"

"If you're about to assume I'm full of shit and I don't mean what I've just said, I'd really prefer you keep it to yourself, because I happen to mean it. Every word."

We sat quietly again for a moment, when Freddie broke the silence. "You know," he mused, "if it wasn't for you, I would have spent all day in the studio rowing with the boys, fighting over some little thing that seems much less important in retrospect- and spent all night in a club somewhere getting f---ed."

I nodded. "Sounds like fun."

"Liar."

"Yes, I'm lying. Each to his own."

"I like this better."

"You what?"

"I said, I like this better." He sighed. "It doesn't take so much effort. All I need- all I need is you."

_Flatterer._ And yet, in spite of my cynicism, my heart skipped a beat.

All of a sudden I realized what I'd just done to Freddie. He was completely out of control, thoroughly out of his element. So many times he had forced his world upon me, sending me to places I didn't think existed, both physical and emotional. Now he was getting a taste of my life- my old, simpler, pre-T-Rod life. I'm not a country girl by any stretch, though I may have lived outside the urban sprawl, but I loved moments like these, when the world is beautiful and for a fleeting instant nothing is wrong. Moments when it feels like there's nothing tugging at you, no promises to keep, no deadlines to meet, and all you have to do is be. This was such a moment.

And he loved it. And so did I.

"Evie?" he spoke again.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for calling you a bitch."

I smiled. "I'd say it's okay, but it's not. So instead, I'll say, 'I forgive you.'"

"That's even better."

I looked down, noticed the way his hands had slipped lower and were now practically between my legs. He had already removed the little ring he picked- I didn't know what he'd done with it. Deep down I knew I ought to lift both hands out of my lap and place them at his sides, but I didn't.

 

Rather, I said, "Can I see your palm?"

"Why?"

"I want to read it, didn't get a chance to that night." I added, "I promise I won't scream."

I lifted his hand, then, and turned it over. I really did love his hands. They were works of art all their own. For a moment I squinted against the dark, stared into the faint lines and creases I found there.

"What do you see?" he asked.

I thought briefly of what I told him that morning. The plague of weakness that, as far as I knew, still ensnared him. I heard K's grave words one more time: "There's nothing that happens that isn't supposed to happen."

But I was here, changing everything. Was that supposed to happen? Was that the real, divine reason I was here? To provide him the second chance? To make that change? It didn't make much sense, but who can explain anything about the mystery of Life, with all its twists and turns and loop-de-loops. Right now, that was enough reason for me.

At last, I answered him. "I see... a long, happy life full of love, friends, and family."

Freddie sounded concerned. "Why didn't you say anything about success?"

I looked up, confused. "I thought that _was_ success."

Freddie opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was no way to explain what he meant without looking like a cold, calculating famemongerer. I knew that. _Therein lies the big difference between us_ , I thought to myself. _He isn't content with the simple things- only because he doesn't give them a try. Happy is a choice, my friend. And from what I remember, it wasn't yours._

Thinking such things hurt my heart again. I had intended to turn back around, let him stew on that little tidbit about success for a while. Instead I lifted his palm to my lips, and kissed it. Closing my eyes, I kissed it again. Now I let my lips caress his fingers, one by one. Freddie was merely sitting there, letting it happen.I was lost in a free, unguarded moment. I didn't know what I was doing, I was just doing it. 

I felt Freddie pull the last few pins out of my bun. My hair fell loosely down about my shoulders, in which he gently tangled his fingers. My heart began racing. 

He nuzzled the side of my face, put his arm around me. I released his hand, wrapped my arms around his back. I turned my body in to his, sitting up on my knees. Freddie leaned forward, laid me down against the floor of the truck so that we were completely hidden. Not even Steve could see us.

_Mary_ , I tried to remind myself. _David. Liza. Insert generic and therefore applicable name here._ And still I let him lay there, practically on top of me, his hands gently running along my curves. His eyes were aflame; and except for my own hands clenching in his mussed hair and sliding up and down his back, I was paralyzed.

But he didn't kiss me. I ached to ask what he was waiting for, regardless of how foolish that would make me look. He answered my question anyway.

"I would love to just take you right here, right now," he whispered, struggling to swallow. "Oh, my angel, you have no idea how much I want to take you- to tell you-"

"Tell me? Tell me what?"

Freddie kept talking. "But if I try, we're going to to be interrupted."

"You don't know."

"Yes, I do."

"How?"

"Because your Boss is watching." He pointed. "And because, there's the airport."

I looked up, and found we were pulling up alongside the loading zone at McCarran. Like good tin soldiers, Freddie and I sat up then, pretended like nothing had happened, although my heart was about to bust out of my chest. Rudy pulled up in his cab right behind us, hurried out. I grabbed my backpack, smoothed my dress, ignored how weak my knees were as Freddie helped me down. 

"Are you going to be comfortable in that? It'll be about ten hours, all told," Freddie said, meaning my dress.

"I'm fine," I managed.

K jumped out of the truck, and squinted. "What happened to your mustache, Mark?"

Freddie nodded, ignoring the question. "Right, thanks for the rides, K. You're a good sport." He handed him his money.

Steve's eyes bugged. "This is too much-"

"It's enough. Get yourself a new car. It's past time the Mother Ship was decommissioned." 

"I think I'll put this toward school, actually. Oh my God."

"Whatever. It's yours now," Freddie said a little impatiently.

Steve blinked. "I'm either high, or confused. Maybe it's both."

I turned to Steve and hugged his neck. "Thank you, K. We couldn't have done it without you."

"It was fun, thanks for letting me be a part of- whatever this was."

Freddie waved his hand. "Come on, Eve, we have to go!"

"Two seconds," I called back, then said to Steve, "You know, had you ever considered a double major?"

"Double major?" K squinted, patting his pockets for another joint. "I can barely keep up with a single-"

"You're a smart cookie," I said. "Too smart for that stuff. Anyway, computers and physics go well together, I'm told."

"They do?"

"If they don't now, they will," I smiled. "And you want to be ahead of the curve."

"Don't know, that's a lot of money."

I tapped the wad of cash in K's hand. "That oughtta get you started."

A hand came down upon my shoulder. I nodded and turned away, but not before I said, "Think about it, K. I need to get those twenty points somehow."

"Twenty points?"

"Two-zero," I said, and winked. "I'm counting on you."

And with that, Freddie, Rudy and I hustled into the airport, and left K standing there feeling utterly perplexed. What he would do with his life now was completely up to him.

"Got the annulment papers?" Freddie suddenly asked Rudy.

"Right here." He patted the suitcase.

"Good. As soon as Roger gets a good look at the license, we'll ship them off. The less time I spend 'married', the better," he laughed, placing quotation marks around "married" with his fingers.

And it was so strange, the way my throat constricted when he said that. I had no way of knowing if this smooth operator, or the person he was when we were alone, was the real Freddie. Maybe they both were. Maybe neither. Who could say?

_It must be very freeing_ , I noted to myself, _to be so cool that you can approach everything as if it's a game, and treat everyone as a tool to win that game. Very freeing indeed._

But personally, I preferred my kind of free. 

 


	49. Monty Python and the Holy Passport

It wasn't a nonstop flight we were taking. Just like before, we were stopping at JFK to rush onto the next British Airways jet that would take us straight to Heathrow. Right now, we were back in the air, first class passengers aboard a Trans World Airlines 747. _This isn't the Starship, but it sure beats riding coach.  
_

I had my nose stuck in a January issue of _Time_ magazine, laughing silently to myself at the cover story. "Global cooling" was the environmental worry of the decade, and the author of the article was sounding the horns of judgment upon we humans for hearkening forth the second Ice Age, which was due to arrive in the next two or three decades. Little did he know that in that same amount of time the message would flip, and become "global warming." Still our fault, though. 

"Always something," I said aloud. 

Freddie glanced up. "Hm?"

"Oh, nothing, just reading this story," I explained. "We're apparently all going to freeze to death before long."

"Bloody ozone," he said absently, turning back to his pencil and paper. 

We hadn't said much to each other since getting out of K's truck. Freddie saved his conversation for Mary, whom he called to let her know he was on his way back (and to say a quick hello to the cats). 

"Two more seconds, dear, I need to make another call," he had said.

"Call whom?" _  
_

"Just want to page Straker and Paul, they must have landed by now." _  
_

Freddie timed this perfectly; they had apparently just come in off the tarmac, about to board their plane back home. The phone call didn't take much time, Freddie just wanted to make sure his two friends were all right. As he hung up, I saw him roll his eyes.

"Now you've got Peter doing it," he muttered to me. _  
_

"Doing what?"

"He asked how Harley Quinn had liked her fiance," he chuckled.

"That's his name for me."

"It's harlequin, not Harley Quinn."

"Just go with it, Mr. J," I sang. _  
_

"Bad habits do spread so quickly," he sighed. _  
_

I bore his abrupt distance as well as I could, but I was finding it harder and harder to shift alongside him. Freddie was a chameleon, with a face for every hour of every day. I had only one face, and only one protective mask, which was wearing ever thinner with unbroken use. 

For the past half hour Freddie had been hard at work sketching something, and I didn't want to distract him. I would have updated the NFOs and activities by now, but he was using my hardback journal as a desk; it seemed the tray table just wasn't doing the trick. I kept my eyes moving from the magazine pages to his steady pencil traces, making sure he didn't pry the journal open and see whatever potentially unkind things I had noted as recently as yesterday. Once I let myself stare too long at his handsome face, long enough to make him feel the pressure of my gaze. He looked up, and I turned away, my cheeks burning.

I understood it this way: Freddie wanted my body, and I wanted his. That much had been crystal clear since we had worked on "My Melancholy Blues" in the wee hours of the sixth morning- and that seemed to be about it from what I could tell (or admit, at this time). The brief spells of intimacy we had shared, wherein something always seemed to get in the way, were invariably followed by a drastic cool-down on Freddie's part. And he and I had not kept up one single conversation that lasted longer than five minutes. 

Even now after ten days, he was so hard to read- but Freddie wasn't the kind to narrate his true feelings aloud to almost anyone. And since I wasn't calm and quiet Mary Austin, I felt it safe to say he still wouldn't make an exception for me.

Watching the lights of Las Vegas disappear behind the clouds reminded me that the party was over. The entire experience truly had been one for the books, and to Freddie I was and always will be grateful. Nevertheless, I needed to examine my options once we landed on British soil-

Hey, wait a minute. I couldn't go back without a Passport! And there was no trunk to stow away in this time. Here was the wrinkle! Oh, no! I was toast! But then, perhaps Freddie had a plan for this too. It was still too early to freak out, we weren't leaving America for another hour. _Freddie's got this. I needn't worry._

Forcing myself not to fret, I continued to muse. I still had no ID, and most employers expected applicants to prove their official existences- legal authorization to work, so to speak. I had none. 

I closed the magazine and put it back into the bin. What was it a person could do for a living without ID, without a Social or anything like that? True, now I had a marriage license, but that little document was already headed for the shredder, and the ink was barely dry.

That was the thing no one ever bothered to mention in the films. Going back or forward in Time, and then staying there, always seemed so hassle-free. Not so! In real life, you need to show you are who you _say_ you are. You are dead in the water unless you have the papers to prove you're not. Not that that's a bad thing, that's just the way it is. But there had to be exceptions.

I sat there with my hands folded. Off the top of my head I could think of only one thing: I could be a nun and therefore have to convert to Catholicism or the Anglican church. To my knowledge there aren't too many Baptist convents.

_Oh, right. I can just see me now. The new Maria von Trapp._ I snickered to myself.

Again, Freddie looked up. "Sorry," I whispered, covering my mouth.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I was just, um- thinking," I murmured.

"About what?"

"Nothing, sorry, I didn't mean to laugh out loud like that. I was just thinking about my options."

"Options?" He frowned.

"You know, for, uh- for what I'm going to do with my life now."

"Oh yes?" Freddie put the pencil back into my bag and started tucking away his drawings. 

I waved my hands, "No no no, don't do that, I-"

"Don't be silly, I'm not making much progress anyhow," he answered. "Just trying to come up with ideas."

"Oh yeah? What for?"

"Costumes and things. For the tour after the album."

_Oh, yeah, that's right. He's a rock star. I actually almost forgot._

"Well, don't let me distract you-"

"You're not distracting me." He handed me back the journal, a mischievous smile curving his mouth. "Not like that, anyway."

"Still, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be. Come on, talk to me."

"Uh-uh. I've distracted you enough." With that I opened up my journal. Taking that same pencil in hand, I was poised to write. I had a whole day and a half to account for after all. As soon as the tip hit the paper a hand swooped in and shut the journal. I looked at Freddie, half-irritated.

He just leaned back and crossed his legs. "I'm all ears- and teeth."

I fought down surprise at this joke he'd made at his own expense. "What does that mean?"

"Darling, really. You've got eyes, haven't you? Now tell me what's on your mind."

**_NFO: Not above a little self-deprecating humor._ **

"Well," I shrugged, "I was just thinking about what I'm going to have to do with myself since the Relic still hasn't turned up."

"Oh, yes," Freddie nodded, pursing his lips. "The Relic." His eyes seemed to cloud for a minute, then cleared again. I pretended not to notice.

"Yeah. I'm going to have to figure out a game plan. I have to get myself a job, for one thing."

"You can work for me," Freddie offered brightly.

I shook my head, grinning. "Thank you, but I'm already in debt up to my nose to you."

Freddie groaned, "Darling-"

"You know what I mean. I need a real job. Thing is, again, I don't have ID."

Freddie must have misheard me, because he said, "So you need ideas?"

"I have one."

"Go on."

"I could be a nun."

"Of course, your head _would_ go there."

"I think it's a very good idea if worst comes to worst."

"You could do that. But then I couldn't come visit you, they'd never let me in. I have the air of iniquity hanging too heavy about me." Freddie's eyes gleamed.

_So that's what that is. Iniquity smells like licorice. Good to know._

"Oh, let's see," he went on. "Hypothetically, I suppose, you could become a streetwalker."

" _What?_!"

"Hypothetically, dear! Doesn't mean you have to, it's just a possibility."

"Okay, then. That's two! Two ideas in the hole. Nun and prostitute."

He nodded sagely and said, "Or you can join the circus."

"And do what?"

"Be a snake charmer perhaps. Wear some slinky little number and sway about with a python round your waist. I'd pay a lot to see that."

"Okay, that's good too. So three! Three ideas for future careers. Nun, prostitute, snake charmer-"

"Mud wrestler-"

"I'm kind of seeing a pattern here, I don't know about you. But yes, FOUR! Nun, prostitute, snake charmer- what were the other ones?"

"Mud wrestler, stripper, fan dancer- Wait, I'll come in again!" Freddie laughed.

I stared at him, a grin spreading across my face. "Was that a Monty Python reference?"

"Nobody expects a Monty Python reference!"

"Or the Spanish Inquisition."

"Or a dead parrot."

"No, no, he was just stunned."

And in this single exchange I forgot again about weighing options for my new future, quit thinking about the Relic, and instead joined Freddie in spouting off Monty Python lines like the two closet nerds we were. Rudy looked up from his newspaper, watched us laughing. It was only his attention that made us realize maybe we were being a bit disruptive. 

"Since when were you such a Flying Circus fan?" I asked in a softer voice.

"Since it came along. I love them."

"Did you see the Holy Grail?"

"I did, but honestly, I liked the sort of variety facet of the show better."

"Me too. Besides, it ended so stupidly. The film, I mean."

"I thought it was funny!"

"It was obvious. They ran out of money before they could end it properly so they just stopped and had the police come and arrest everybody."

"And that's funny."

"No, it's just British. I mean, the organ music was great, but I felt so cheated at the end. So anticlimactic."

"My dear, such a shame you can't find it in yourself to appreciate true humor," Freddie yawned. "You Yanks are so difficult to please. If there's no resolution, you want nothing to do with it."

"Oh, you dandy old snob. Acting all high and mighty when you know you love the Marx Brothers too, who are anything but highbrow. Now _you're_ distracting _me_. I have to get writing here, get my head together-"

"No indeed, I'm far too enthralled. I just found out how much you love Monty Python and that endears you to me more than you realize. You've got me curious. I now intend to learn all about you."

"What's there to learn? You think I'm an angel or something like that. Angels are dull and boring."

"But you're not."

I rolled my eyes. "Bull. Please go back to work, far be it from me to slow you down." I opened the journal again, pressing down on either side in case he should try to shut the book once more. And he didn't. Instead, he simply pulled the thing out of my hands altogether and sat back against it with an air of triumph.

"Pushy, pushy," I muttered.

"Write after we change planes," he sang.

We were changing planes in another two hours, by which point I would be too tired for anything but sleep. And I wasn't feeling like writing much anymore anyway. So talk we did.

Somehow, Freddie and I jabbered on about everything and nothing, about the band, about the new album, about what made us happy and unhappy, and about "heaven," where he allegedly assumed I came from, in which I was able to freely talk about my "angel family," for the whole two hours we had. I at first tried stepping carefully, to make sure I didn't ask him the same questions any journalist would ask. As the minutes passed, however, I let myself relax and said what I wanted. I knew where the tender spots were -seven years of study and over a week of firsthand experience taught me where those lurked- so I managed to avoid most of them. I let him tell his naughty little stories and laughed and blushed where appropriate, as I popped peanuts into my mouth and he contented himself with a glass of red wine.

And we did this, quite miraculously, without interruption. I mean, unless you count the couple of times someone walked up and asked for his autograph. And a couple of times we dragged Rudy into the fray to settle a facetious dispute about this or that. But that was really all. By the time a miniature version of the New York glow reappeared outside my window, I felt like I'd known this man for ten years as opposed to a mere ten days. 

_Okay, fine,_ I conceded to myself _. So we can keep up a nice long talk! So what? We're friends after all, why shouldn't we?_

Good grief. Can you say, "denial"?

We landed, and Freddie and I stood to stretch our legs. I reached into the overhead shelf to grab my backpack, stuffed the journal back in. Freddie was watching my every move, a funny light in his eyes.

"You're still wearing your ring, I see," he noted.

"And you couldn't get yours off fast enough," I replied, smiling. Freddie just shrugged and let Rudy walk in front of him, so that he was sandwiched between me and his bodyguard/driver as we filed off the plane.

Freddie leaned forward and whispered, "Hey, Eve, can you tell me something?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"What's your name?"

"You just said it. I'm-"

"I mean your real name, dear."

I looked back at him slyly. "Who wants to know?"

"This dreadfully nosy tart does, that's who."

"Eve Dubr- I mean, Eve Zuckerberg not enough anymore?"

"No. That's the name I gave you in a careless moment. I want to know what your family calls you."

"Why?"

"Darling, would it kill you not to ask a question every time you open your mouth?"

"I want to know. What do you care what my real name is?"

"I'd just like to be a little more in the loop. Call you by a more intimate name."

"My family's not the best place to go. They call me different things, too."

"Julie Christie" is what my dad liked calling me, thanks to my real name being Julia Christine, and the fact that the actress Julie Christie was one of my dad's first crushes. My mother was more fond of the nickname "Goose" herself- and Freddie already called me that. The one brother I have did not even bother to call me by first name, and instead settled for a shorter version of the middle one: "Chris."

"I'd settle for your real first name."

"I can't tell you."

"Good Lord. Why not?"

"Because!"

"Oh, well, I'm convinced now. Is it like some kind of rule, you can't use your angel name?"

I began to laugh.

"I mean it! What's it going to hurt? Can't I at least guess?"

I grinned. "You can try."

"Right!" He rubbed his hands together, brows furrowing. "Hmm..."

"You get three. After that, no more guesses."

"Oh, f---, always a string. Then you had better give me a hint. A good hint."

"It's in a Beatles song."

"Thanks a lot. After all, there's only four thousand names in Beatles songs."

"That's all you get. Take it or leave it."

"All right, fine. Let me think it over, I want to make these count."

We were in luck; there was a flight out to London in another thirty minutes. All we had to do was buy the tickets- and (GAH!) provide the proper identification to do so. Again the pit formed in my stomach. _Stay calm_ , I told myself nervously. _Freddie knows what he's doing. Doesn't he?_

But as Rudy grabbed our one bag, Freddie still gave no indication of what I was supposed to do now. We approached the ticket line, taking our place behind seven other people. Rudy and Freddie produced their Passports, and I stood there like an idiot, wondering if maybe something had indeed slipped through the cracks. 

(By the way, I have to say, weren't the seventies a cool time to be alive? True, it was the era of Nixon's Watergate and Carter's "malaise," years complete with the very inconvenient 1979 oil crisis still yet to transpire. But there was no TSA or anything, and you didn't have to be early to the airport, you could almost be late and still make the skies by running for the tarmac- it was wonderful... Okay, I just had to throw that in there, carry on.)

I was a nervous wreck by the time we approached the desk. Rudy spoke for Freddie, "Three for the 12:15 flight to London, please."

She nodded. "Passports?"

Two of three were spread out before her. Freddie took my shoulder gently and tugged me toward the front. "She's with me."

The woman stamped the boys' papers, then looked at me expectantly. "Do you have your Passport, ma'am?"

I stammered, "Uh- one second."

Hands shaking, I reached into my backpack, pretended to rummage around although I knew I wouldn't find anything. 

Freddie's brows came together. "Don't you have it, darling?"

"Not that I can see." My voice quavered violently. "Uh..."

I was holding up the line, I knew I was, but I still checked every flap. _Stupid things, they put way too many small spaces in these bags, they're just crazy for you to misplace something, they make it too easy. Not that I had anything to lose in the first place..._

When I'd convinced myself I was out of luck, I stood, about to hold out my hands in supplication when Freddie's brows rose.

"Oh!" He snapped his fingers and chuckled apologetically. "That's right, how silly of me." He reached into his inside jacket pocket. I watched numbly as he drew out a third Passport and put it in my palm.

"You gave it to me for safe keeping, remember?" he said. I stood and stared at him. Freddie nudged me a little. Stiffly I turned to hand her the Passport. She opened it to reveal the picture he'd taken of me just before we went to the Heatwave, but with my bedroom replaced with a dull beige background.

She looked up at me. "Ms. Evelyn Dubroc?"

My dry throat swallowed and I whispered, "That's me."

The woman stamped the Passport, handed us our tickets, gave us back our papers, and said "Bon voyage."

And I fainted.

The next thing I knew, I was slouching in a plush chair, with Freddie slapping gently at my wrist. I opened my eyes, and he kissed my forehead. We were on another plane, this one a bit more spacious than the last.

"I'm so impressed, my dear," Freddie said. "That was a wonderful imitation of a marionette when one cuts its strings."

I looked at him. "How long did you work on that one?"

"From the moment you hit the floor."

"That's pretty good," I muttered, chuckling. "Where are we?"

"We've already landed in London," Rudy quipped. "I'm afraid you suffered a mild concussion, so you've been out for about twelve hours now. The ambulance is on its way."

"Rudy!" I smiled. "You're being sarcastic!"

And Rudy almost blushed with pleasure. _He does like me! Oh, it's so wonderful to be accepted._

"Actually, we're just waiting to take off, which should be in another five minutes or so," Freddie explained. He smiled almost shyly. "Were you, um- were you surprised?"

"Surprised?" I said. "Man, I almost had a heart attack." I fumbled for my Passport again and stared at it. There was my new name, and my new fake birthday, and my new fake address. It looked so authentic, much more so than the slapdash version we'd gotten away with via Freeling. 

"So, um," he said, "now you don't have to be a nun."

"Thank you. Oh, thank you." I squinted in disbelief. "How did you do it, Freddie?"

"Oh, I didn't."

"Then-"

"It turns out that Randy John knew a fellow who forges official documents and lives in- I forgot the name of the town, some tiny little place outside Vegas- he coincidentally mentioned it on the way here, so I asked if he could have a Passport made overnight, and he said-"

_So that's what was in the package!_ "How does that even come up?"

"It just did, I don't know."

"It couldn't be that you asked-"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous, why would I do that?"

"Why would you do any of this stuff, Freddie?" I asked. "Why have you been so generous with your time, with your money, with everything?"

"I told you I'm a frivolous man. You should know that well enough by now."

"That's as may be," I said, "there's still no explaining why you didn't report me the very first night I came here. I could have been anyone, Freddie. Anyone! I could have been a thief, a serial killer-"

"Are you?" Freddie said evasively.

"No, but-"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Why didn't you leave me to the police?" I asked. "That would have been the easy way out."

 

"And miss out on a party? Oh!" Freddie's eyes widened suddenly. "Damn!"

"What?"

"The party, I almost completely forgot, it's two days off and I haven't made any sort of preparations at all."

"The dinner party?"

"The very same. Damn, damn, damn! Nothing's ready- I don't even have a cook right now."

"I can cook," I offered.

"Cook what?"

"I don't know. I can do pretty much anything if I have the recipe."

"Well, if you're offering, let's figure that out now before we forget anything else."

" _We_?"

"Yes, we. You and I. The flying trapeze team. We make a very good one, you know."

"Trapeze?"

 

"You know, the people on the bars, swinging to and fro, catching, throwing, keeping each other in line, but one never letting the other fall too far-"

"And that's us?" I smiled.

"Wouldn't you agree? Is it Anna?"

"Anna?"

"Is that your real name?" Freddie's train of thought currently resembled a pinball machine.

I shook my head. "Nope. You've got two more."

"Bollocks. Okay, back to work."

I didn't stop to wonder why Freddie kept dancing around the reason why he didn't report me. My thinking cap was pulled on too tight, and I couldn't freely navigate to other previous subjects. But we did fall silent after working it all out, let ourselves relax against the seats and doze off. One can only talk for so long, and for the past two plus hours, that's all we'd been doing.

_Okay, so we can talk about silly things and work together on serious things. Big deal. We're compatible, sort of. Not very. But some. Maybe Peter was right after all. But -but not THAT right!_

I think back to the way I approached our relationship at this time, and I sigh. It's funny, what you take advantage of. it's incredible, what you can talk yourself out of, if you try hard enough. It's truly astounding, how blind someone can be simply because they make the conscious choice to close their eyes.

Had I done the opposite, left my eyes and mind -and, really, heart- open, I would have saved myself a great deal of time- and a great deal of pain.

I should have known better, is all I can say. 

 


	50. Freddie vs. the Magic Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal here. Behold, the first of two parts of this story as told in Freddie's voice. It's a little on the fluffy side, so if you don't like fluff, please skip, you won't miss much anyhow. But if you do, hope you enjoy, as this is the last time everybody's in a good mood for a while.

My eyes open, and I sigh.  Everyone's still asleep.  I'd love to know what time it is, other than time for everyone _else_ to be up.  The lights are dim in the cabin, and the girl beside me is out cold.  Poor thing's knackered.  Across the aisle, Rudy's eyes are also closed, mouth slightly open as he snores.  For the first time I totally realize just what a whirlwind the past two days have been.

Quietly I reach across her and lift the visor over the window to see it's pitch dark except at the very edge of the horizon, where the sky is turning from black to a kind of violet.  I shrug.  I don't mind flying, I really don't.  I've spent far too many hours aboard planes to be frightened of them. What I do mind is being tossed around like beans in a maraca- and then someone dropping the maraca.  That upsets me.  But that would upset anyone.  Show me one instance where the beans are happy that the maraca slips from someone's hand and crashes to the floor-

Why am I talking about maracas?  Sorry, dear.  I'm getting sidetracked.  I had a little something to drink before dropping off, but I don't suppose that's a very sound excuse.  Anyway.

By this time we must be more than halfway across the Atlantic.  My fingers impatiently drum against my knees.  I could be still working on that costume design I'd started the first leg of our return trip, but to do that means turning on the lights, and I don't want to wake my sleepy stray kitten. 

The same goes for scrawling possible lyrics to a song I've recently been mulling.  It's a pretty thing, if I do say so myself, in the vein of a love song.  But I still can't decide if it's going to be a happy or sad one.  I've written both kinds, and the sad ones always seem easier to write.  Maybe I'm just a naturally tragic person.  Who knows.  I don't feel sad lately, though.  It's very likely this will end up being a little more playful as a result, assuming this song even comes into fruition.  Most don't.  We shall see.  It's "Champions" that deserves more of my attention anyway.

A sudden urge to run up and down the aisle just to stretch my legs hits me, but I don't act on it.  Though we may be sitting in first class, I'm certainly not alone, and despite what so many believe, I'm not that thoughtless.  I think of trying to go back to sleep, but I'm not exhausted anymore. I don't need much, and what I do need I've already had. I sigh again, becoming more decidedly bored by the second.

Eve shifts in her sleep, turning her head away from me.  I notice a thin black cord trailing from her ear to something by her side.  Squinting, I see it's the Magic Mirror.  Ooo. 

In a trice, nosiness is no longer a sin.  I gently slip the thing away from her hip and cradle it between my fingers.  I slip a cautious look her way.  She sighs deeply, letting out a little moan.  I try not to let the sound get to me- and fail.  A bit less curious than before, I pull my eyes away from her and focus back on the Mirror.

It reminds me vaguely of a smaller monolith from that indescribably dull film _2001_.  I remember someone talked me into going to see it when it was released- it might have been Brian, for all I know, it certainly is his style, but I can't remember for certain.  Difference is, this thing has a little red light that flashes randomly at the top, and an odd-looking smiling face beside the letters "LG".  Wonder what they stand for.  "Looking Glass," maybe.  It is after all the Magic Mirror.  That's probably it. 

I press the button like she showed me, and there's the image of the penguins.  Just below, it says, "Enter password."

Bugger.  I'd forgotten this part.  "Who wants to know?" I mutter under my breath. 

But the screen doesn't change.  It wants a password, nicely showing an image of a keyboard right underneath.  I have no idea what to do next.  Do I guess?  Do I touch the little letters on the screen?  I'm feeling less intelligent the longer I sit here this way.  So I decide to just go for it.

I touch the letter "s," and "s" appears in the box.  It gives me the oddest little thrill when it happens.  But that's not how I want to start my password.  I press a little arrow pointing left, assuming it's the eraser, and the letter presently disappears.  This is so exciting- almost embarrassingly so.  

But I still haven't the faintest what the word could be.  "Penguins," perhaps?  I try to touch the "p", but the letter "o" appears instead.  I erase it, then try again.  But it still thinks I want "o."  This happens two more times, and I'm about to get more than a little miffed when finally it stops messing with me and shows the letter I want.  I type the rest of the word with no further trouble.  

I suppose "Done" is the thing to touch when I'm through?  That's improper grammar.  I'm no dictionary, but they could at least say "Finished" or something like that.  "Done" sounds so unglamorous, to say the least.

But when I do tap the word, the screen says "Try again."

Rolling my eyes, I obey.  Just for fun I type in my own name, and get the same message.  "Try again."  I try Roger's name next.  The same response- and for some reason I am relieved.  I then start using any word I even remotely associate with Eve; "jazz," "Queen," "God," "angel," and then finally, with a groan, "Richard Dreyfuss" (I still don't get it- nor do I get why it matters so much).  None of them work.  I am rapidly losing interest.

I wish I knew what Eve's real name was; perhaps that's the password.  It's in a Beatles song, as is every other girl's name in the world.  Michelle?  Rita?  Sadie?  Julia?  Magill?  Lill? Nancy?  Lizzy?  Mary Jane?  Sally?  Eleanor?  It's too many to choose from.  

I pick one at random and type it in: "Julia."  I don't know why I chose that one exactly, though I love the song.  One of my favorites by Lennon.  It's simple, sweet, and rather mysterious- like her. 

"Try again."

_F---._

Then I recall what she said the last time I was fiddling with it: "I love anything in a tuxedo."

Tuxedo.  Hm.  Perhaps that's it after all.  It's worth a go.  Just as likely as anything else.  I type it into the box.

And the penguins vanish.  I punch the air in victory.  I'm so clever sometimes.

In the next split second my jaw drops.

The penguins have given way to a screen dotted with little pictures.  And the image behind it- a field of golden daffodils- is _moving_.  Like a wind I can't feel is rustling them together, making them dance gently before my eyes.  This sort of thing only happens on television, and yet here I sit with this unbelievable device in my hands. 

I'm wild to explore, see what these pictures mean.  I just don't know where to start.

The screen fades a little.  When I tap it again, it brightens.  That might get a little bothersome, but we'll wait until that happens.  The four color pinwheel circle thing on the bottom looks interesting, so I touch that.

Then this silly word pops up in big colorful letters with yet another box underneath it.  My patience has run out on the word boxes, and I don't care to know what "Google" means, probably something ridiculous, so I press another backwards arrow and it takes me back to where I was before.

Some of the pictures have captions underneath telling me what they are.  And they don't help much.  "YouTube," says one.  "Instagram," says another.  "InfoWars," "Amazon," and "Email," all in that order, run across the top.  I can't make heads or tails of any of it, save Amazon- but even there, I hardly know what a shopping trolley has to do with a river.  Is this the language they use where Eve comes from?  I'll take English, thank you. 

Then I see another image in the corner that says "Amazon Music."  That, I understand.  What does a girl like Eve listen to?  I press it.  Hopefully it's not all Gregorian chants and Ave Marias.

I'm being tart.  I'm sorry.  I know her better than that.  The Mercurena, after all, is anything but pure- especially the way she was dancing to it.  I just wish- I mean, I'm just so frustrated lately.  I'm having fun, of course, but there are times I want to tear all my hair out and scream.  F---ing shop window.  Will the glass ever shatter?

I just realized, I haven't spoken to Joe in days.  He probably thinks I've forgotten about him.  And he wouldn't be wrong.  I should call him when we land.  

So anyway, I touch the Amazon Music button, or whatever you call it.  A new dark blue backdrop appears, and a list forms.  On the top, the word "Albums" is highlighted.  The first thing I see on top is "The Beatles: The White Album."  My brows knit.  How does that even work?  I touch it, and there's an entire listing of the tracks.  Everything.  Wow.

There's a little triangle pointing in the opposite direction of the erase button, but I like the winding arrows better, so I touch that.  "Yer Blues" appears on the screen but I can't hear anything.  I remember the cord leading to her ear, and mildly freak out.  With deft fingers I pull the thing out of her ear before it awakens her and stick it in mine.  Now John Lennon is screaming about how lonely he is in my right ear.  It's a bit too loud for this time of night, so I hold it away from my head a ways. 

I go back to the selection and the music keeps playing.  There's a lot of things I don't recognize, and there's more leading down, but I don't know how to move the screen that direction. I try dragging the tip of my finger up. It moves. Again, I get the giddy feeling in my head. I could stay and listen to the Beatles, but I'd rather keep looking.

I don't see any of our songs in the mix.  Not a shock.  Disappointing as always, but not a shock.  I suppose we're too bawdy for her innocent ears.  The Boss allows "Helter Skelter" but He doesn't tolerate "Bohemian Rhapsody."  Explain that to me. 

Oh, right.  Maybe the Beelzebub thing got in the way.  Whatever.

I see something called _Faith_ , by a fellow named George Michael.  I'm honestly not surprised by the title, but I'm intrigued nonetheless.  I touch it, and four songs appear.  Seems wholesome enough.  "Faith," "Father Figure," "I Want Your Sex," "One-"

Wait a tic.

My finger drifts to the third thing.  As the seconds pass, and the song really starts, a slow grin crosses my face.  In the corner are the words "X-Ray Lyrics" and I touch it.  Now I can actually see what this guy is singing.  I cover my mouth and begin to laugh. 

Evie, Evie, Evie.  What a little rebel.  This is the same girl who wants me to cool down every time I get hot for her- which is often- and yet she listens to music that speaks for my feelings.  You would think she'd understand, but she doesn't.  Or maybe she does, and she just likes watching me squirm.  Either way, ARGH!

When this delicious bit of lasciviousness ends, I bounce back to the music list and press the mix-up button again.  If this is the tip of the iceberg, I can't wait to see what lies beneath the surface.

Two and a half hours later, I'm still listening to her music.  People around me are starting to wake up, but Eve isn't one of them, so I keep the overhead lights off.  I've practically mastered the device by now, and found several new singers and groups to look into later.  I'm not staring at the thing like before though; to stare at it too long kind of hurts my eyes, the light is so bright and everything else around me is so dark.  

The Magic Mirror has a flashlight, which I have turned on and am using to light my drawings.  I've yet to find the camera part of it, but it's around there somewhere.  I can sneak a few pictures of Eve later once I get her to tell me where it is.

Now a new song plays, again something I've never heard before. It's sweeter than much of what I've heard so far, rather like an early Jackson 5 Motown type thing, except the image shows three young, blond boys who are obviously not from the Jackson family. I can't understand a word they're saying, and I've since turned off the lyrics. It's very silly, repetitive, and sounds like they're scatting the whole thing. Again, maybe this is a heaven-language song. I wonder what "MMMBop" means.  Maybe if I listen to it again, I'll find out.  I play it once more.  It really is a stupid little song.  Still, if nothing else, it makes me smile.

What's that you say?  Do I really think Eve's an angel? Oh, gosh.  Frankly, I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if she was, and I wouldn't be disappointed if she wasn't, if you can understand that. I'm keeping an open mind.

I put my pencil down and look at what I've sketched on the page.  This has potential.  It's another catsuit, but this one has long sleeves unlike the one I used for the last tour.  The slit in front however takes just as deep a dive- and since it's basically just a body sock, the view will be just as scenic.  And, uh, I'll let you decide what that means.  

Anyway, like the last, it's very Nijinsky- and before you assume I'm in some kind of Nijinsky-Baryshnikov rut, with the leotards and the ballet slippers and things like that, understand I was planning on straying from the tights altogether on the next tour.  It's Eve's fault, really.  She put the idea in my head in the first place.  I'll have to show this to Zelda in a couple of days, see what she thinks.  She has a wonderful flair for fashion.  

Which is more than I can say for Eve. My God.  I don't know what to do with her sometimes. She won't wear jewelry except for that cheap little ring and that ugly necklace she's so fond of, and she has to be reminded to wear shoes.  I wear more makeup than she does, I'm certain of it. If I didn't buy her all those clothes, she'd still be marching day to day in those two horrible tees and one pair of jeans. And she'd like it.  

 Not to say she doesn't put herself together nicely. I'd forgotten to tell her how beautiful she looks tonight, even after two windy open-air rides aboard the ricketiest jalopy ever. She looks beautiful all of the time.  But it's a very casual sort of beauty.  Effortless.  

I glance at Eve again, who has shifted back to face me.  Her brows gently knit and relax as she dreams. I can't help but smile.  Her diary is still sitting across her thighs. I think it's her diary. That's what she says it is. It could be something far more serious, but I'm not going to snoop around and find out for certain. That's unforgivably nosy. 

It's a good question, really, why I didn't report her.  It flummoxes me a bit myself.  

Eve's actually not the first stranger to crash my place.  A couple of years ago, actually, on tour in Seattle.  It was the last night of our Sheer Heart Attack Tour in North America.  I walked into my hotel room that night to find some little whore had broken in and was in the process of stealing my jewels.  I rather took matters into my own hands- I dragged the slut out by her hair, made her give everything back, and threw her out on her arse.  True story.

And I made the mistake of deciding that would never happen again.  How was I to know that in two years' time, a new, completely different girl would enter my life in a similar way? 

I really was going to do it, have them come cart her off. But I didn't.

I'd only be half-kidding if I blamed the cats.  

I had my hand on the phone and I called for her to come back down.  When she didn't, I checked on her to find her curled up on top of the bed in the guest bedroom- and Oscar dozing away on her hair.  I tried shooing him away so I could wake her up, but he wouldn't move.  Not that I tried my very hardest, but that cat just lay there, staring at me as if to ask if we could keep her.  So I decided to let her stay asleep until the police arrived.  

I took her bag from her arms to check it, expecting a repeat theft, but there was nothing of mine inside.  I set in on the floor, then noticed she was laying on the bed with shoes on.  That happens to be a pet peeve of mine, as I always assume the dirt and dust on one's soles will get on the covers, so I took off her shoes and put them by the bag.  My resolve by this point was shrinking fast.  I patted her shoulder before walking out to call the police at last, and then I studied her a little more closely.  And even asleep, she looked scared.  She looked so very helpless, there with her shoes off and the little orange cat nestled up against her.  

By that point I knew she wasn't going anywhere that night but under the covers she was laying on.  My heart- yes, I have one- melts for the down-and-outs in the world.  At least I could help this one, let her stay the night.

Little did either of us know the one night would become ten or so days- or that I would learn to see her as more than just some helpless little outcast in need of a friend.  

"MMMBop" ends and shifts to something called "She Will Be Loved."  This is that band called Maroon 5- I can tell by the voice, which I like.  It's in my range, but not as strong.  These chaps need to be discovered.  There's a lot of talent out there which goes unnoticed.

Idly I wonder what she would do should John be able to fix the Relic.  She doesn't seem too upset that it's gone, and she's coming to terms with setting up house down here.  True, a Passport can't buy someone a house, or even a job necessarily, but it's a start.  Hopefully I'll never have to tell her I broke the damn thing.  That would be nice.

I've worn her down quite a lot, and I can proudly say I probably know her better than most people.  But the wall she's built around her feelings is so high, and so wide.  She's a practical creature, those big eyes belying her cunning.  She says what she needs to to help herself.  I know this because I do that too, and I can recognize it in other people.  Who knows how she really feels.

I shake my head.  I am attracted to this girl, and I don't know why.  She's lovely, of course.  And sharp.  But that's not why I keep taking her along.  That's not why I'm starting to hope the Relic is out of even Deacy's capable hands.  

I roll my eyes and sigh.  What a fight it's been!  We're both trying to stay one step ahead of the other, struggling constantly for the upper hand.  I've tried to take John's words to heart, and put them into practice.  Yet as much as I've learned about her, that distance remains.  She won't even f---ing tell me her name!  If we're not sparring, we're squabbling- even if it's playful squabbles. There's no getting closer.  The few times I think we might, there's always, always a disturbance.

Perhaps I just need to go for broke.  Perhaps I ought to throw caution to the wind at last and explain everything.  Then again, maybe not.  It's a dangerous idea, especially if it actually turns out she doesn't-

Oh, dear. Eve's awake, and I've been caught red-handed.  Let's put that mask back on.

 

 

 


	51. Mixed Signals, Part One

I was a little nervous about falling asleep on the plane; I have a tendency to talk in my sleep, and I didn't want first class (or more specifically, Freddie) to know I had lustful, magenta dreams every night.  I thought maybe if I had my music softly humming into my ear, I might distract my brain from that same old earthquake.  It seemed to work; for the few hours I spent unconscious I dreamed no dreams.  That I can remember, anyway.

It was music that awakened me as well- but a different kind.  Someone was softly singing a cappella to themselves.  And it was a song nobody in 1977 should have known.  

"Dah de dah, spending ev-er-y daaay, dah dah di dah dah in the pouring rain..."

Before I even opened my eyes I reached for my Android at my side.  It was gone.  I looked, now wide awake.  _Oh, there it is._

It was in Freddie's hand, one of the earbuds nestled in his right ear, as he held the Android's LED flashlight over his sketching paper ( _Where'd he get that anyway?  Did he make a stop somewhere at an art store in Vegas?  Who knows_ ) and the screen facing him showed a Matisse-inspired image of a Lady Godiva figure holding a Pandora's box, under which read the words "Maroon 5: She Will Be Loved."

I freaked.

"HEY!" I whisper-shouted.  There were other people sleeping after all.

Freddie glanced at me.  He blinked once, then his face split into a nonchalant grin- almost too nonchalant.  "Good morning."

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed. 

He looked blank.  "I'm working."  

"How'd you hack into-"

"The password, of course."

"I never told you the password!"

"Oh but you did, unintentionally.  I'm not a complete dunce, you know."

When I reached for the phone, he held his hand out into the aisle.  "Darling, where are your manners?"

_So we've gone from "too polite" to "where are your manners."  This man, I swear._   "Will you kindly hand that Magic Mirror of mine back to me?"

"Only if you show me where the camera is."

My insides writhed.  "What all have you seen?"

"Not too much, just the music, really, and that speech bubble thing at the bottom."

" _You went through my texts_?" I tried not to scream.  I didn't send anything via text I wouldn't want serving as a New York Times headline, but I still couldn't believe Freddie had been so blatantly inconsiderate.  I thought he was better than this.

"Not really, I left it alone, I just tapped it and a bunch of numbers appeared.  Looked a bit unexciting so I didn't stay there.  Most everything else didn't work.  I tried opening up this thing called In-sta-grahm, but it couldn't, said it wasn't connected to Wee-Fee."

"You mean, Wi-Fi?"

"I'll say it however I like, Miss Har-Lee-Quin.  How do I, um- connect it?"

"You can't.  There's no Wi-Fi here."

"What is Wi-Fi anyway?"

"I'll tell you when you're older.  Please give it back."

"What are you so worried about?"  Freddie's eyes gleamed.  "What dirty little secrets have you hoarded up in here?"

"Nothing."

"I mean, besides those soft porn songs you've got-"

"Soft porn?"

"I Want Your Sex?  Really, dear? Is that, um, standard bill of fare for the Choir Invisible?"

My cheeks burned.  "I don't know what you're talking about," I lied lamely.

Freddie held up his finger at me, and paused the music.  I watched him skillfully navigate my Amazon downloads, thankful that whatever Queen I had stored on my phone was tucked away in the general Music folder.  It would seem he hadn't found that yet.  I had all my Queen and Freddie Mercury tracks downloaded long before I'd installed the Amazon app, which contained mostly random songs that struck my fancy.  

And wasn't it just my luck that the most beautiful, most talented, and most wonderful man I had ever had the privilege to be near, had hacked into my phone and listened to one of my other guilty pleasures, "I Want Your Sex" by the late great George Michael, with an oily grin upon his lips, as I became that much less innocent and that much more common, in his eyes.  "I Want Your Sex", of course, wasn't even all that graphic by comparison with some of the stuff I've heard on the radio lately, but Freddie was looking for anything, and he'd struck gold.

He turned it on and smiled.  It was the smugness of that smile that put me over the edge.  I forgot to be a good sport this time around.  I was still tired, and therefore my filter was nonexistent.  My now very red face hardened.

"Please give it back," I said through gritted teeth.

Freddie looked me over and did so at last.  Quickly I turned off the music, yanked the earbud out his ear and tucked both my phone and my journal back into my bag.  

"Aren't you going to show me the camera?" he said softly- rather cautiously, in fact.

"I'm not showing you anything else," I hissed.

Freddie sighed, "Oh, Evie, really-"

"I said I would show you how that thing works in my own time, but apparently my own time isn't worth the waiting for so you do it yourself.  And most of the time it's not so bad, but for God's sake, Freddie!"

"I didn't mean to embarrass you-"

"Oh, sure, that's why you decided you'd show me what juicy little items you discovered, something else to hold over my head as evidence against my goody-goody uptight character.  I hope you're glad you found it, I hope it proved what you wanted it to prove.  Good God."

Still fuming, I folded my arms and stared out the window.  Leave it to Freddie to push the envelope.  So much for my privacy about anything.  

Freddie shook his head.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a finger reach over and tap my knee.  Slowly I turned to face him again.  To my surprise, contrition filled his dark eyes.  It was so hard to be mad and look him in the eyes when that vulnerable glow lit them.

"Angel, I swear I didn't intend to upset you," he whispered.  "I don't know what that was.  You -you just caught me off guard and I acted rashly.  I'm sorry."

I sighed.  Already I felt a little mean for speaking so sharply to him, and now _I_ wanted to apologize _. Anyway, how is this any different from me scouring books and web pages for any and all sordid details about his private life?  Do I really have any right to get upset about this?  I'm just as guilty as he- perhaps even more so._

"I told you I'd show you when I was ready," I whispered.  "Can you at least _attempt_ to be patient?"

Freddie began to say, "I have been _very_ pat-"

"What?"

"Never mind.  Just please don't be angry with me.  We've had a wonderfully productive couple of days, and I don't want them to end in a fight."

"Productive?"

"Weren't they? Look at all we accomplished: we smuggled you into another country, we saw a ridiculous film-"

"I thought you enjoyed it!"

"Oh I did, but it was still ridiculous.  And uh, we almost died in a plane crash, we faked a marriage license, and tomorrow we are going to make Roger look very silly once he lays eyes on it."

I laughed, forgetting he'd shamelessly gone through some very private stuff.  "Don't forget, you also opened for Tom Jones- and had a fake Passport made."

"Oh yes," Freddie nodded with a little chuckle.  "My God.  You know, honestly, I don't know how we haven't been caught yet.  We keep, you know, just pushing it further and further."

"You're magic," I said simply.  "But we can't take advantage of karma just yet, anything can happen.  The hardest part is going to be not talking about it."

"Not for me," he replied.  "I keep secrets better than anyone."

"That, you do," I quipped.  "Mission Implausible.  Perhaps the greatest heist the world will _never_ know."

"We know," Freddie corrected me.  "Me and you.  And Rudy of course.  And Sharon and the other ladies know about half the story.  And that's world enough."

"You think you'll ever tell Roger?"

"I don't know.  Probably not.  He's my friend, you know, and we've made friendly bets often enough, but I think he just went a little overboard on this one."

I stared at Freddie.  " _He_ did?"

"Of course."

"Freddie, Roger probably doesn't even care-"

"But I do.  Are you going to show me that camera now?"

"Only if you show me what you were drawing."

"Done," he agreed.  "I was going to show you anyway.  Here."

Freddie shuffled the stack of loose papers together and passed them to me.  He then asked me my opinion, my honest opinion.

"What do you think of that one?" he said, pointing at a very short, sleeveless little one piece that looked tight even without a man inside it to prove _how_ tight.

"It's so naughty," I murmured with a smile.

"That's the intent, my dear," Freddie simpered.  

"What color were you thinking?"

"I don't know.  I usually go for black or white with these things, but I might want to step beyond that, try something new.  It's just an idea.  It's the other one I really like.  The one underneath it."

I tucked the top drawing under the bottom and looked at the second one.  He explained, "Now, this one, I was thinking, again, with the colors and things, maybe a black and white kind of diamond pattern, or maybe some sort of multi-colored kind of motley, with red and green, I don't know for certain.  Kind of a court jester sort of look." Freddie shot me a sidelong glance.  "A harlequin, so to speak."

I nodded, then did a double take.  "Harlequin?" I whispered, pronouncing it correctly.

"By George, she's got it!" Freddie sang.

"No, no, seriously.  Did you- did you just think this up?"

Freddie blinked.  "Yes, while you were asleep."

"So," I said slowly, "you didn't have this in mind before?"

"Can you blame me?  All this talk about harlequins and Harley Quinns, it got me thinking."

I gaped at the picture.  My stomach was doing cartwheels.  This was a costume he wore at numerous concerts during the _News of the World_ tour.  It was one of his most famous. _Surely he would have thought of this without me saying anything.  Surely I've had nothing to do with it.  That would be impossible.  
_

Freddie looked at my expression.  "You don't like it?"

"Oh, Freddie, don't be silly, it's brilliant," I managed.  "I love it."

"You don't sound like you love it."

"But I do.  What shoes would you wear with this, though?"

"Ballet slippers, of course."

"Of course," I laughed.  "All you're doing is proving his point, you know."

"Whose?"

"Sid Vicious."

"Oh, that little unwashed scamp?  Be serious.  I'm not proving his point, I'm proving mine.  Ballet for the masses and all that."

"Well, if that's your point, then good.  I think you'd look fabulous in it myself- drive everyone mad for you."

Freddie swept his hands in the air.  "But I already do."

"One second," I said.  I had to make sure of something; I pulled out my phone again and swiped right to my Music file- the general one, not the one Freddie had rummaged through.  

He looked over my shoulder as I did this.  "Hey, I didn't know you could do that."

"What?" I asked.

"This."  Freddie made the sideswipe motion with his finger.  "There's more that way?"

"Yes, and it's stuff you are not allowed to see," I said, lifting the small stack out of my lap, "so take these and give me one second and I'll show you the camera."

I sifted through the Music, expecting to see a change- any kind of change at all.  But nothing had.  The Queen songs were still there, all of them.  Nothing was out of place.  I checked the Gallery too.  I didn't have many pictures of him, as I relied on social media feeds for that.  But thoise that I did have downloaded were all there.  Everything was the same.

_Maybe Robert Zemeckis was wrong.  Things never happen like they do in the films.  I got here without a flux compacitor, or whatever, and I wasn't moving 88 miles per hour.  The guy did_ Who Framed Roger Rabbit _, for crying out loud.  He doesn't know everything.  
_

_Maybe I've just gotten trapped in a parallel universe, or- maybe everything changes when I get back- if I get back.  That reminds me, I need to find a job-_

"Are you here, dear?"  Freddie interrupted my thoughts.

"Oh, yes, sorry, I'm awake," I said quickly.  I tapped my way to the camera and showed him what to do.  

(And if you want to see the rest of this scene, let me know, and I might put together an outside piece extending this and the Magic Mirror sequence.  But only if you're interested.  Otherwise, we shall continue...)

*******************************************************************************************

The windows of the car were wide open, and Freddie had his hand stuck out the window.  I could only look on and smile.  

At the London airport he had made a phone call to Liza, a much longer one than those he'd made at JFK.  From what I could tell, Liza wasn't too happy at being ignored, and was making sure Freddie knew about it.  When he finally hung up the phone, he looked a little down, almost guilty.  This mood shift had carried through into Freddie's car and part of the way home.  It was a quarter past two already, yet it felt like it shouldn't have been any time past nine in the morning. 

Time zones, jet lag, and Roger when he sings: these are a few of my least favorite things.  (I apologize, I just have _The Sound of Music_ on the brain...)

"Oh, that's right, it's Sunday," Freddie remarked suddenly.  "Nice.  I don't have to be me till tomorrow."

_There he goes again, with the cryptic little comments._

"Why wouldn't you want to be you?" I asked casually.  "You seem nice enough _."_

Freddie looked into my eyes.  "Would you want to be me?"

"That's different."

"No, darling, it really isn't."

"I don't really think about it like that.  I'm content to be myself."

"Mm.  Must be nice."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know.  I just feel a little odd at the moment."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's really nothing- nothing new, that is."

"Liza?"

"It's in that, um- it's in that area.  I'm all right, genuinely.  He'll get over it."

"Liza's a he?"

Freddie's eyes widened a bit, as thought he realized he'd just given too much away.  But  immediately after his face relaxed again.  "Uh, yeah.  Liza's a man."

I wasn't surprised to hear that.  But something in his voice kept me from asking any more questions.  Freddie and his moods- they were enough to make a girl go grey.  I just wanted him to feel better, but I didn't quite know how to go about it.

I was sitting next to the most complicated man who ever lived.  Even now, he was such a mystery.  Was that his charm- this cloud of enigma he chose to cast over himself?  That distance I was learning to hate- was that the appeal?  Or was it merely a defense mechanism, protection against the pain of heartbreak?  All the days I'd spent with him, and I was still no closer to finding the answer.

I looked at him, studying his face, and murmured, "I wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"I wonder what really goes on in that clever brain- what thoughts fly back and forth behind those beautiful eyes of yours."

Freddie blushed -he actually blushed- and looked down, grinning shyly.  A moment later he glanced back up. 

"Why don't you ask me what I'm thinking?" he whispered, leaning in.

My brow arched.  "Will you tell me?"

"All you have to do is ask."

"Maybe I will- later," I whispered, "when we're alone."

"Tonight?" he purred.

"Maybe."

"Yes or no.  There is no maybe."  As I opened my mouth he added, "There's no no, either."

I smiled.  What a silly man.  "Then I guess, yes."

It was at that moment that Rudy, in a fit of uncharacteristic impishness, turned up the radio at full blast.  Electric Light Orchestra's "Do Ya" had just started- a fairly new song at the time.  Apparently Rudy didn't have to be the stalwart cone of silence till Monday either.  Our eardrums practically burst with the overdriven guitars.

But instead of getting miffed, Freddie laughed, "Oh, keep it there, darling, we're not home yet!"

And for four more sweet minutes, we were two of seven international con artists taking on Las Vegas with the help of Tom Jones and a stoner chauffeur.  Freddie and I sang at the top of our lungs, trading song lines, and generally just being obnoxious.  

Even after the song had ended, Freddie was still talking music industry language, already getting back in the swing of work.  "You know, they wouldn't be anything as big as they are if it wasn't for their producer, that guy's a genius.  What's his name again?"

"How should I know?"

"Oh, yes, that's right, you are the rock and roll ignoramus."

I pushed him playfully, and he pushed back, and we were still gently tussling when we pulled up to his Kensington flat.  Rudy grabbed our suitcase and we piled out of the car, feeling tired but happy.  What a wonderful friend to have.  Crazy, and volatile- but completely marvelous.

"I," I announced, "am going to have a nap and then, I'm going to church, there has to be some kind of Mass or service happening somewhere, and I'm going to go job-hunting.  See who's hiring.  And then I'm going back to sleep.  What are you going to do?"

Freddie smirked.  "You, if you'll let me."

I rolled my eyes.  "Geez.  I walked into that one, didn't I?"

We were about to stroll in when Freddie abruptly put the star-shaped glasses back on and slapped my hand as it reached to poke the key into the lock.

"Darling, you just got married," Freddie scolded me.  

I blinked.  "So you slapped my hand?"

"So, someone needs to carry you over the threshold."

I smiled and put my arms out to Rudy.  "Come on, then, I don't weigh much."

"Not Rudy!" Freddie exclaimed.  "You didn't marry him!"

"I didn't marry you, either," I declared.  "So, since that elusive Mark is not here, and I am exclusively in the company of good friends, I will only accept a piggy back ride."

Freddie then proceeded to open the door and let it swing open.  He turned his back to me and leaned forward.  "All right, angel.  All aboard."

So I jumped onto his back.  "Oof!  Right, let's go.  One, two, three!"  And with that, Freddie marched into the flat with me latched on from behind, his hands under my knees, keeping us steady.  Rudy followed.

Oscar sat up on the sofa and saw us.  Immediately, like a little green-eyed lapdog, he hopped down and strolled right underfoot.  Tiffany and Tom were right behind.  They loved their daddy so much.  This would have been sweet and cute, except all three of them were trying to rub against his legs at once, and he was already top-heavy.  Freddie lost his balance.

Freddie cried out, and we toppled to the floor, me still on top of his back.  The cats got up in our faces, circled us as if to make sure we were okay.  And we were.  I'd never laughed so hard in my life.

"Oh," I sighed at last, "it's good to be home."

Freddie's chuckles calmed down a bit, and he looked up at me.  "Home, eh?"

"Well, I mean, temporary home, of course."

He smiled, and looked about to say something.  

But then a shadow fell over us- in the shape of a woman.

I was first to look, and my heart fluttered.  Oh no.  

Freddie followed my gaze.  His face stiffened, eyes growing wide.

Mary simply stood there.  She didn't say a word.  

This looked so bad, and seemed to get worse with every second.

So I acted as quickly as possible.

I swept to my feet, rolling off of Freddie's back.  "Hi, Mary."  

Freddie slowly sat up, still staring at her.  "Hello."

She smiled the most fake, painful smile I'd ever seen.  "Did you have a good time?"

I answered for him.  "Yeah, it was fine, now I'm going to leave, let you guys talk or whatever it is you do, I have to go, uh- job-hunting, yes."

Mary began, "No, don't go on my-"

"Oh yes, Freddie's been dying to see you this whole time, I don't intend to be the third wheel," I said, "so I'll see you later, guys, bye-bye."

Freddie was watching me, though, as I plowed through the door.  My heart was beating so fast, louder than the door as it crashed closed behind me.  

And as I hailed myself a taxi and began my quest, the thoughts flew like wildfire: _Crap, crap, crap, CRAP!  Mary, you have the most frustrating timing!  Can we just walk in and not have to deal with a jealous ex-girlfriend?  I saw it!  She feels threatened by me!  She doesn't feel threatened by the guys, because they're guys- but ME?  She can't stand me, I can see it!  I could see her eyes this time.  They were hurt!  They were shocked!  They were sad!  She hasn't one thing to worry about!  Freddie trusts in her more than he'll ever trust in me.  She knows him.  I don't!  He loves her, he always will!  What the freak is she so worried about?_

And even to my blindsided mind, I could hear it, the tone in my internal voice.  

_Maybe Mary wasn't the only jealous one._

This was getting a little scary.  And there was no way he could ever know.  I made up my mind.  Maybe getting closer wasn't such a good idea after all.  I'd fix this.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

 

 

 


	52. Mixed Signals, Part Two

The Tube doors opened.  "High Street, Kensington," announced a stuffy, recorded voice.

Here was my stop.  Heavily I picked myself up off the seat, squeezing between the people holding onto the straps overhead.  "Stand clear of the door," said the same voice, and the doors slid shut behind me. 

The station was rather trashed, and reminded me of the New York subway minus the homeless fellows banging on cardboard boxes.  I rushed up to street level, but not before I inspected the random posters taped on the white tile walls, looking for job advertisements.

Getting a job here in Great Britain was going to be harder than I realized.  Living in Texas, I had never had to deal with something that, in the seventies, absolutely ruled the UK: the unions.  I hoped I could talk to Freddie about it tonight, see if he knew how one could join them- or, more ideally, get around them.  I didn't feel like spending any more money, so I decided I would trek my way from the Tube station to Freddie's flat on foot.  I was tired, but not that tired.  Surely it wouldn't be that far.

An hour and a half later I rounded the final corner.  I was literally dragging my feet, worn out, the sleep I'd enjoyed on the plane still far from sufficient to refresh me after the breakneck pace of the last two and a half days. 

I hoped I wouldn't be crashing a little soiree between Freddie and any of his given friends.  Seeing Mary had somehow sucked all the Vegas buoyancy right out of me.  She was another reminder that Freddie was not mine to keep, nor would he ever be.  Had "Liza," or David, been our greeter, I would have felt about the same, but with a little sadness dusted around the edges instead of jealousy.  It wouldn't have been a nicer feeling that I had now, but it wouldn't have been worse. 

I didn't want to be jealous.  I knew better than to be jealous, especially considering what I had known for years.  That is, Freddie belonged to no one.  Maintaining his "freedom" was far too important, especially at this point in his life. 

_Far be it from me to wedge myself between anyone and my pr- I mean, THE prince._

Unlike in Vegas, where I could afford to be the wild child right along with his pals, once again I likely would take on the role of his mute pet.  I had to respect Freddie's busy Queen world, and all the drama and craziness that came with it.  At least, until I knew where I was going with my life.  As much fun as I was having, I didn't like that I still was, in actual fact, completely dependent on Freddie.

I unlocked the front door and walked in to see the lights dim and the cats all snoozing on the sofa.  Listlessly I stroked Oscar's fur as I passed, ignoring how his back arched up against my palm- something that usually delighted me.

Except for the cats, the flat was empty- and I was sick to death of my maroon dress.  I fed my feline friends their dinner, and with one last burst of energy I dragged myself into the bathroom to clean up. 

I still wore my tracker faithfully, no matter what.  But now, for the first time since I slung it round my neck ten days ago, I took it off.  Absently I rubbed the round spot between my collar bones, where it had spent so much time.  I suppose a small part of me still had fingers crossed and hopes high that a miracle would happen, and the Relic would fall back into my grasp.

_Now, if Dr. K and his superteam had been smart, he would have put the tracker in a needle, inserted it into my arm or something- and used a Bluetooth earpiece instead of a Nokia.  Oh, well.  This was after all T-Rod's maiden voyage.  Original versions are never as sophisticated as their successors._

With a resigned little shrug I cleaned up, put on some pajamas, then curled up on top of the bed.  I quietly threaded my tracker between my fingers.  I thought again of my family, wondered what they would do if it was indeed my fate to never return home.  The world at large wouldn't mind- I cast a small shadow upon the earth, even for a lightning rod - but there were many people I loved whom I might never see again. 

Strange, I wasn't as broken up about it as I could have been.  I loved my family.  And I missed my small circle of friends from school and work.  But I had been here ten whole days; by now I should have had some kind of meltdown.  Curious.  The man who was trying so hard to unravel me, was at the same time keeping me together.

_God, hope, and Freddie.  My three pillars of strength._

Just the thought of Freddie made me smile.  He wasn't mine, I wasn't his.  And I could still very well be on borrowed time.  But I was glad to know him as well as I did. 

_Glad.  What a weak word.  Blessed is closer._

In my first complete, utter silence since the day of the Heatwave, I felt myself drift away.And asleep I stayed for about two hours, but I must not have slipped too deeply into unconsciousness.  My eyes opened to the sound of heaven floating softly from below.

I sat up, listened closer. Someone was at Freddie's piano.  Still clutching my tracker, I rose, walked into the hall and down the stairs a way.  When I saw him, for some reason it felt as though my heart literally lifted a bit in my chest.  Freddie was home at last.

He had his back to me, lost in the music.  It wasn't a rock song he was playing; perhaps he had been practicing them before I woke up, but certainly not now.  Instead, it was a classical piece, the second movement from Beethoven's _Pathetique_ sonata.  If you've never heard it, I implore you to fix that right away.  Even if _you_ don't like classical music, Freddie did, so do it for Freddie.

I thought it odd, that he was sitting there alone.  Where were his friends?  Why wasn't he out with Liza, Minsy, Straker, or whoever the heck he preferred to hobnob with on Sundays?  Surely he'd seen enough of me this weekend. 

Then again, Freddie did say he wanted to talk- or at least for me to "ask what he was thinking."  I wondered what I was in for, but one thing was for certain.  I couldn't let him sway me again. I would treat him as a good friend while suppressing the obvious attraction.  There were too many other people in his world who saw me as a threat, from Mary down to Paul.  I could not be that threat. 

But what beautiful music he made.  I stood there, entranced, watching him play, every note vibrating gently across my spine. 

Freddie played one sour chord.  "F---," he cried, breaking the spell.

I began to laugh, then caught myself.  But he had heard me.  He whirled around on the bench, saw me standing halfway up the staircase.  I waved shyly.

Freddie's lips curled in a smile so warm I could feel it from where I stood more than twenty feet away.  "What's new, pussycat?"

I smiled back, hoping my eyes didn't look too soft.  "Hello." 

"Have you been here this whole time?"

"Certainly since before you got back.  I was asleep."

"I had no idea.  You just blow in and out of here without a sound."

Freddie waved his hand, gesturing for me to walk on over.  So I came closer, and stayed standing.  He went back to playing piano for a little while.  

"Beethoven, huh?" I said.

"I'm a little rusty, as you can probably tell," Freddie murmured. "Haven't played that since boarding school." 

My eyebrows rose.  "You went to boarding school?"  

He nodded.  "In India.  Went there for ten years.  Didn't I tell you?"

"No."   _So he's talking about it now?  Interesting.  He held back about the place in Panchgani before._   

"That's where I learned to play- what little I _can_ play-"

"Oh, would you stop, you're such a talent and you know it."

Freddie leaned his head back against me and closed his eyes: a silent thank-you.  But he didn't say much else about it, and I didn't want to press.  Freddie struck a few idle chords that followed the same progression as the Beethoven piece, but screwed up again.  As if to erase the mistake, his hands flowed over the keys in a cascading, chromatic waterfall, letting the sound ring a moment or two before setting to practicing songs for the new album.  He hummed quietly to himself- what song, I couldn't quite decipher.

I cleared my throat.  "So how was Mary?" I asked cheerfully.

His back stiffened, and he took his hands off the ivories.  "She's fine."

"That's good.  What'd you guys do after I left?"

"We talked, had tea, that's about all."  Freddie turned to face me.  "Darling, you really didn't have to run off like that."

"I wanted to give you guys some alone time.  You hadn't seen her in days!" I crooned.

"It wasn't necessary."

"I thought it was.  Imagine what she might have thought, the two of us sprawled on the floor together like that!"

"Yes," Freddie murmured.  "Imagine."

I continued, ignoring his tone.  "Did you go see Liza?"

Freddie's eyes narrowed.  "What?"

"Liza!  Did you go see him?"

"For a - for a while."  He was sounding more and more uncomfortable.

"I bet you were glad to see him.  I know Liza was dying to see you, that's how it sounded on the phone. My goodness, Freddie, how do you keep up wi-"

"Okay, two things," Freddie interrupted.  His voice was cutting.  "First, stop calling him Liza.  It sounds so f---ing queer when you say it."

"Then what is his real name?"

"It's... It's Joe.  Okay?  His name is Joe."

I processed the information with the efficiency of a computer: _Joe. I only know one Freddie-related Joe.  That's Joe Fanelli. Fanelli rhymes with Minnelli. Freddie loves Liza Minnelli. Liza Fanelli. Liza is Joe Fanelli. Of course he is._

Freddie went on, "Two, I'd rather not talk about my day, it was altogether mundane, I didn't come home tonight to talk to you about Mary and Joe.  All right?"

_Ah, yes, things are indeed back to normal_ , I quipped to myself.  To Freddie I nodded, saying, "Okay, so what did you come home to talk about?"

"I want to know where you ran off to," he said quietly. 

"I told you, I did all the things I said I was going to do.  I job searched, then got churched."

Freddie's face seemed to relax; he let himself smile a little.  "Did you confess your sins properly?"

"I'm not Catholic, but I think I did okay," I nodded.  "I still haven't said my three Hail Marys yet.  Will you help me with that later?"

"I'll do anything you ask," he purred, and kissed the hand resting on his shoulder before noticing the tracker wound between its fingers.

His brows furrowed. "Why do you still even have that thing, dear?"

"Just in case," I shrugged.  "It makes a great rosary too."

"But it's gone, isn't it? The Relic?" Freddie said.

"Anything can happen," I replied. "Never say never."

"Mm."  He began playing the piano part of "We Are the Champions."  "So did you find anything?  A job, I mean."

"There were a few openings, but they were all union jobs."

"Ugh, dreadful things.  Trade jobs, huh?"

"Yep.  How do I get into a union?"

"It'd take more than a Passport."

"That's what I thought."  I sighed.  "Maybe I could wait until a place opens up at Kensington Market.  That's what you did."

"You could," Freddie said doubtfully, and looked up at me.  "But darling, you really don't have to bother with any of this, you know."

"That's true," I said.  "I can still go join a convent."

"Again, you could- though I'd hate to see a girl like you go to waste."

"Go to waste?"

Freddie rolled his eyes.  "Don't you know what they'd do to you?  First they'd make you cut off all your hair.  And then they'd put you in a little dark room with an ugly black habit and a Bible and, uh, some rosary beads, and tell you to be happy with the nothing you have.  Say goodbye to life altogether."

"At least I'll have a purpose.  Everybody needs one."

"Am I not purpose enough?"

"What does that mean?"

Freddie huffed.  "Nothing.  Never mind."

"Besides, life as a nun isn't that cloistered.  Nuns can have fun, too.  They go out and do all sorts of things.  They have to get those pictures for the calendars and the greeting cards _some_ where."

"You weren't meant to be a nun," Freddie muttered.  "You don't have the body for it."

I shot Freddie a downward glance.  "Say what?"

But he didn't explain.  Instead, Freddie rose from the piano bench and stood before me.  He took my hands in his.  His behavior startled me.  This was different from yesterday morning, somehow I could tell; this wasn't about sex.  He stared deep into my eyes a moment as I tried not to blush, the black diamonds searching for some nameless emotion.  _What's gotten into you, Freddie?_

"There's something we need to discuss," he whispered.

"We do?" I asked, my voice involuntarily small.

"Come on," he said, nodding his head.  "Up on the balcony."

"The balcony?"

Freddie didn't reply.  He simply took my hand and led me toward the stairs.

"Can I fix you anything to eat first?" I asked.  "If you didn't have dinner already, I could throw something together for you real quick-"

"No thank you, I had dinner with Joe tonight."

_Right.  So you ate at Joe's._   I stifled a nervous laugh, which instead came out as a snort. 

Freddie whirled on me, and for a moment I thought he would slap my face.  "You're not taking me very seriously tonight, are you?"

"Yes, I am," I answered.  "You're just being so touchy.  Could you stand to relax just a little?"

"I'm fine, now come on, upstairs," he commanded.

So to the balcony we marched.  Just before we did, Freddie took the phone off the hook, and dead-bolted the front door.

"What are you doing?" I asked. 

"There'll be no interruptions tonight," he declared.  "Remind me later, darling, I need to call John."

"What's going on with John?"

"Apparently he called on Friday, had some big news or something.  Ought to find out what's so important.  That's all."  His mouth twitched anxiously.

"Oh," I said. "By the way, I think Jeff Lynne produced it."

"What?"

"I went into a record shop for a few minutes today.  Saw a 45 of 'Do Ya.'  Jeff Lynne produced the album that has 'Do Ya' on it."

"So?"

"So the guy you said that ELO wouldn't be anywhere without- is the guy who heads ELO."

Freddie blinked.  "I knew that."

" _Riiiight_."

Freddie laughed.  Music made him feel better, even when it regarded his competition.  "I really didn't mean they wouldn't be anything, I was just being flip.  He's an incredibly talented chap.  We used to be a bit jealous of them, you know, when we were just starting out- well, I was, anyway- I suppose that was a bit of leftover green showing through.  ELO and Led Zeppelin. Those two especially."

"Now, the engineer, though," I said, "is a guy named Mack."

"Well, of course.  Engineer is actually what I meant to say-"

"Oh, good grief," I smiled. By now we were out under the overcast night sky- it had been cloudy all day, the weather seeming to remember finally that this was Great Britain, whose climate isn't all that different from wet and rainy Seattle.  Despite the jokes, I could see Freddie was on pins and needles.  Whatever he had to say must have been important.

Freddie saw me giving him a good hard stare.  "What?" he asked.

I shook my head.  "I'm just trying to reconcile this person with the guy I saw on stage yesterday," I explained.

He shrugged.  "It's just me."

"Yes, but which you?"

 Freddie didn't answer me, went straight into it.  "Darling, what would you do if - um... the Relic happened to show back up?"

"What would I do?"

"Yes."

_What kind of question is that?  I'd leave, of course!_   But to my surprise, that wasn't the answer to fly from my lips.  Something in his eyes made me instead say, "I... Why do you ask?"

"I want to know."

"It doesn't matter what I would do, I can't do it," I said evasively.  "It's gone."

"Yes, but if you were to, uh- be given that second chance," Freddie persisted.  "Doesn't even matter if it involves the Relic, if you could go back, would you?"

"Well, I mean- uh-" I spluttered.  "I mean, Freddie, I couldn't stay with you anyway-"

"Why not?" he demanded.

I stared at him, unable to believe my ears.  "What are you saying?"

Freddie drummed his fingers against the rail, and attempted to explain.  All he did was confuse me further.  "I- I mean you wouldn't have to go find work somewhere, I could take care of you.  You could stay with me.  I wouldn't mind.  Not at all."

My throat suddenly felt very dry, as crazy thoughts burned in my head.   _Control_ , I told myself.   _Control._  In my head I repeated the list of names like a mantra.  

"You're welcome to stay," he whispered, his voice growing gentle again.  Freddie took my hand, the one which still wore the wedding ring, and squeezed it tightly in both of his. Too late I realized I'd made a foolish choice in choosing my short pink nightgown to wear to bed.

"For how much longer?" I heard myself ask.

He took a step closer.  "As long as you like."

That hypnotic, smooth voice was sliding through the cracks in my concentration, his dark eyes melting my resolve.  I couldn't help being attracted to him, but I indeed had the power to resist.  Why did he have to make it so hard?  I put my other hand on his shoulder, intending to push away, but my muscles couldn't find the strength.  

Freddie let go of my hand to put his arm slowly around me.  "What do you say?  Do you think your Boss would mind too much if I kept you?"

I swallowed, looked down.  "That's a very- very, very sweet offer-"

"Not sweet," he murmured, pressing his forehead against mine.  His other arm slipped around my waist.  "It's selfish."

"Selfish?"

"Naturally."  He kissed my cheek.  "I'm only thinking of how happy you make me- and how wonderful things are in my life whenever I'm close to you."

My head began to spin.  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words would come out. And even if they had, they wouldn't have gone far.  

"Do I," he whispered, "make you happy?"

My eyes wide and uncertain, all I could do was nod.

"Would you want to stay?"

"I don't know," I squeaked.

His eyes sparkled dangerously.  "Here.  Let me help you decide."

Freddie's lips found my own again and kissed them. Why did he have to be so much stronger than me? Why did he have to be so desirable?

He pressed me up against the terrace door- not as violently as yesterday morning, but with definite purpose.  "Forty-three," he whispered.  "You're above average."

"Now what?" I managed.

Freddie's eyes glowed even in the dark.  "Now, I catch you up on everything else."

Oh, God.  I should have known by now. "There'll be no interruptions tonight," he'd said. The butterflies returned, flying in frenzied little circles.  Frantically I tried to repeat the names in my head.  _Mary.  Joe.  David.  And these are just the current people.  I could dip into the eighties and spend all night ticking them off.  Mary.  Joe.  David.  Mary. Joe. David._

But it was no use.  He kissed me again, fingering one of the thin straps that held my nightgown in place.  I felt his hand slide both the straps off my shoulders. _Control_ , I told myself again- but in a much, much weaker voice. He started gently nuzzling his nose into my neck.  

I bit my lip.  _What are you doing?  Freddie, please!  
_

"Put your arms around me," he growled. I was astonished to see how quickly I obeyed him.  My arms went around him and pulled him close.  _  
_

_Is this all he wants me to stay for?  So he can sleep with me as much as he wants before he gets tired of me?_   At last it occurred to me.  I wanted to push him off me right then and there, but I didn't.

I murmured, "I can't think straight."

"That's good," he whispered.  "You're not supposed to think at all."

"Freddie, please-"

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid-"

"Then shut up and enjoy yourself."

I had lied just now. Truth be told, I was scared to death. _God, send me a miracle. Make Peter Straker climb up the wall or something, I'm in trouble here._ _Real trouble.  
_

He wouldn't give me a chance.  If it had been anything close innocent before, it stopped being innocent soon enough.  Freddie put his hand under my thigh and held my leg up against his hip while he leaned his body even further into mine, pressed so close in I could feel the change happening.  

"Your legs are so long," he muttered before leaning in and kissing me with those full, intoxicating lips- then opening his mouth for a more passionate, more lustful caress.  My brain felt like soup.  His hand slid across my thigh and up into my short skirt.  I gasped, which made Freddie chuckle a little.  He was probably thinking, "Oh, you silly little virgin, you think that's good, I'm just getting started."

This was going way too fast for me.  It wasn't right, it didn't feel right.  On reflex I reached down to pull his hand off my bottom, using the hand which still had the tracker wrapped around it.  My eyes opened just a little- not much, for Freddie's kisses were not things you could just snap yourself out of.  I wrapped my hand around his arm, noting the strange, soft red aura that now circled the tracker pendant, and started to-

My heart nearly stopped.  

My eyes.  They had to be playing tricks.

Oh, my God.

"Freddie," I hissed.  

With an annoyed moan Freddie answered.  "Mmm... What?"

"...Look."

I held up my hand.  Freddie and I looked.

It was the tracker.  For a solid week, the light inside had been dark and dead.  The Relic, its source of power, had not been there to keep the bulb burning.  Was it distance?  Was it broken?  Was it both, that had kept this thing a symbol of hopelessness?  Who knew.

But it was glowing now.  Glowing crimson red.

"Oh, my God," I whispered.  "OH MY GOD!"

"Oh," was all Freddie said.  He let go.

And I broke away from him, danced wildly into the bedroom. Freddie followed me and simply watched, his breathing calming down again.

I couldn't contain my joy.  "YES YES YES!  Do you know what this means?  It means it's close!  It means it's close by, really close by, and it's working!  There's still a chance!  It's not over yet!  WOO-HOO!"

"It's working," Freddie repeated.

"And if I can find it, somehow, somewhere- oh!  How wonderful!  That means I can go, and I can stop bothering you and your friends, and I can move on with my life and you with yours and we can pretend this whole thing never happened!  It's a miracle, I tell you!  A frickin' miracle!  Thank God!"

I jumped around and whooped for another few seconds, lost in my euphoria, until I realized I was celebrating alone.  I turned to see Freddie standing there in the shadows, completely unexcited.

"Well?" I demanded.  "Say something!"

Freddie walked in and turned on the lamp on the nightstand.  Now I could see his face.  He wasn't even smiling.  I marched up close to him, confused.  Certainly he ought to be excited for my sake! 

"Aren't you happy for me?" I coaxed.

"Happy?" Freddie said again.  "Oh, yes.  I'm very happy for you.  I'm so, so happy.  I'm so happy I can't control myself."  

I blinked.  His expression disturbed me.  "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay, I just told you happy I am.  I'm ecstatic.  I'm invigorated.  I'm bouncing off the f---ing walls.  Can't you tell?"

I folded my arms.  "There's no need to be sarcastic."

His voice sharpened, and rose in volume as he answered, "Who's being sarcastic?  I mean every word.  I mean, I can't fully _express_ to you the _warm_ , fuzzy feeling it puts in my heart to see how mad you are to get away from me.  I'm glad you hate me so much.  It really makes me feel wonderful, I tell you."

"What?  No!  Freddie- look, I am so grateful to you for putting up with me, and for doing so much, I wish there was a way to pay you back for everything-"

"Pay me back, my God," Freddie scoffed, walking out of the bedroom and into the hall.

"I wish I could!" I said, following him out.  How could I have been so blind, oh, I was so stupid that night, especially here.  "And anyway, it's only a chance, it's not like the Relic's back in my hand, it's just a better chance than I had before-"

"And apparently that's enough to get you all hot and bothered."  He mimicked, "Oh, hurray, hurray, my chances of leaving just got five percent higher, that's so great, that's five more percent I don't have to spend more with that motherf----r!"

"Freddie, now you're just being ridiculous," I snapped.  "What about your friends?  They wouldn't be too happy if I stuck around."

But this happened to be the wrong thing to say.  His fist slammed down on the stairway railing, his face hard.  

He shouted, "You know, it completely amazes me, how much more respect you have for the people around me, than you have for me.  You care more about what they think, how they feel, but me?  F--- the way I feel.  F--- what I think.  And f--- what I want."

And then, in the heat of the moment, I said it.

"I know what you want.  All you want to do is f--- me.  That's all you want from anyone."

All the air sucked out of the room.  I expected Freddie to fly into a rage at that, but he didn't.  He just stood there at the top of the stairs, eyes wide with shock.  The hurt was written plainly on his contorted, angry face.  His silence terrified me.

He put his hands on his hips, and nodded.  "Well.  The truth comes out at last."

I waved my hands, my voice shaking, "Freddie, I didn't mean that-"

"Oh, darling, yes, you did.  You meant it with every fiber of your being."  His voice was flat.

My lips were dry, I could think of nothing to say.  Because he was right.  In that instant, I had meant it.  Freddie brushed past me, walking down the stairs toward the front door.  He moved stiffly.  I followed him.

My heart pounded.  "Freddie, I'm sorry-"

He turned, his eyes frosty with pain and anger.  

"No, you're not.  Sorry is a feeling.  And you don't feel.  Anything."

And he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

I was alone with the cats again.  The tracker glowed with life and promise.  I had a better chance than ever before.  All I needed to do was keep my eyes open.  It could be anywhere.

But I wasn't thinking about the Relic anymore.  I wasn't thinking at all.  I could only picture his expression, burned into the back of my eyelids.  I'd never seen such pain.  My words had cut into him, my friend.  I had hurt him, made him angry, my dear volatile friend.  I wanted to die.

I carried myself over to the sofa, sat down, but the tears, strangely, wouldn't come.

Perhaps they were saving up for later.  That's the only explanation I can fathom.  And not much later, either... Just waiting for another day to pass...

 

 


	53. Mother Mary's Words of Wisdom

I was lost in a troubled sleep when Freddie came back, so I wasn't awake to see what kind of state he was in, or even to find out where he had gone in the first place.  Not that he would tell me. 

That night I was thrust back into the same recurring dream, but this version drastically differed from its predecessors.  The first half, I knew to expect, with Freddie leading me, then pulling me down, putting his hands all over my naked body, earthquake, et cetera, et cetera.  As before, Freddie hung suspended in mid-air, hanging over the rift, hand still extended to me, still smiling, still inviting me to fall with him.  And the Relic, too, awaited my choice- but now it was well within reach.  All I had to do was raise my hand up and grab it.  Had this been the dream a week ago, the choice would have been made in a split second.  But even now, I couldn't make up my mind.

Then I heard a "Psst!"

I turned toward the source of the sound.  Freddie was looking straight at me, the fingers of his outstretched hand twitching with impatience. 

"Are you going to choose or what?" he hissed playfully.  "I can't just hang around all day, you know, I have a fall to take."

I blinked.  "So you're talking to me now?"

He shrugged.  "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're mad at me."

Freddie cocked his head.  "Why would I be mad?"

"Because I wasn't very nice to you."

Freddie shook his head.  "I don't think that's it."

"How do you know?  You're not real, you're a dream."

"I'm a figment of your subconscious," Freddie said mysteriously.  "I know much more than you realize."

"But the real Freddie _is_ mad at me."

Freddie shook his head again, this time with a roll of his eyes.  "Oh, you pretty little idiot.  He's not angry, he's hurt."

"Okay, I stand corrected.  I'm sorry I told him the truth, and I already apologized to him, but he won't acc-"

"That's not why he's hurt," Freddie whispered.  "That's not the whole reason, anyway."

"What are you saying?"

"Darling, you're so clever most of the time, why do you have to keep being so stupid about this?"

"I don't like your tone."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing!"

"If that's true, you should already have made your choice by now."

Before I could respond, someone pressed "Play" on the dream remote control, and Freddie and the Relic both plunged into the gaping canyon.  Screaming "No!" I ran to the edge to watch them fall-

But then my Android's alarm went off at eight a.m., and my eyes opened to reality.  Memories of this dream faded faster than those of the previous- but maybe that was because of the music I had set as my alarm.  The "Seinfeld Theme" is indeed one very distracting little song. 

(And selecting this tune happened to be perhaps the biggest mistake I could have made.  While it's a very bouncy, unconcerned little tune, it also seems to be associated with extreme bad luck, I've noticed.  This is not to say that what happened this eleventh day is a direct result of a peppy bass synth track- but today would soon become the worst twenty-four hours of my life, and I had never awakened to the Seinfeld Theme before.  Let's just say it kind of set the tone.  So, Jerry Seinfeld, what happened to me that day is partially your fault- not that there's anything wrong with that...)

Trying not to read too much into the latest installment, I rose from bed and drew my robe around me.  Freddie's bedroom door was closed, so he hadn't spent the night anywhere.  I just couldn't understand why he kept going to bed alone.  I hoped it wasn't because of me. 

I almost knocked on his door to apologize again, but I thought better of it.  Something told me I was in for the silent treatment, which was much worse than a spontaneous fit of fury.  So I left him alone, let him do what he was doing.  I popped my contacts in and rushed downstairs to start some tea and breakfast.

It was about half an hour later that a clean-shaven Freddie descended, dressed in a yellow and white polo shirt and jeans, and entered the kitchen.  He had shed every last vestige of my traveling friend, and he was once again one hundred percent Freddie Mercury.  Thank God, the tea was ready by then.

"Good morning," I ventured.

I received no response whatsoever, not even a passing glance.  He just walked in and poured himself a cup of tea.  The energy which naturally emanated from him was frightfully cold and remote.  I felt little thorns pricking my heart.  _Freddie, I am so sorry..._

But I forced myself to shrug and fixed myself a cup as well.  I said one last thing, "Would you like some breakfast?"

Freddie was halfway through draining his very hot cup of tea when I asked this.  Rudy was already there at the door; I heard him knock.  Freddie finished his tea quickly, perhaps burning his tongue in the process ( ** _NFO: High tolerance for pain_** ), placed the fine china into the sink, and walked out the front door.

Without one word.

All of a sudden, I was angry.  How could I possibly explain myself and beg his forgiveness if he didn't have at least the decency to hear me out?  I forgave him so much, and so quickly, compared to this.  But he couldn't do me the same courtesy?

I slammed the egg spatula against the counter and shouted, " _Well, f--- you, then_!"

It was a little disturbing, how free I was becoming with a word I once considered the ultimate taboo.  But I was feeling it then, and it was somehow therapeutic to say, so I said it again, just as loudly.  "F--- YOU, FREDDIE!"

Suddenly I heard the front door close again, and I heard footsteps.  Coming back toward the kitchen.  And the cats didn't wear shoes that thumped against carpeting.  My stomach writhed.  Freddie walked back into view.  I swallowed.

_Crap._

As if nothing had happened, he marched to the counter, and grabbed the star-shaped glasses that lay waiting there.  He fitted them over his eyes, then looked right at me.  I lifted my chin defiantly and folded my arms.  I could swear I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

In a soft, chilly voice, he replied, "No, no, Eve.  F--- _you_."

Then for the second time Freddie glided out, the door shutting much harder this time around.  Even when he was angry, perhaps even still hurt, he couldn't bear to let me have the last word.  Good grief. 

Having cussed my way out of rage,  I remembered the reason he was acting this way.  I had looked at it in the bathroom as I put my contacts in this morning.  It was a triune creature, a being with three names which I knew by heart: Me, Myself, and I.  Not to mention that I had, in effect, said "F--- you" to his face only hours after telling him what I had been thinking all along. The hole in which I was standing only seemed to deepen.  At least it had sort of killed the silent treatment.

Pangs of guilt hit me as I thought on last night.  I never intended to hurt Freddie.  It hadn't been a nice thing to say, under any circumstances.  But my delivery could not have been more clinical.  I hadn't raised my voice, I hadn't been overtly snippy in tone.  I had merely stated it, as though I was reading off the latest weather report.  But it had affected Freddie so deeply.  Why?  He knew it was true.  As recently as two days ago I had called him a sex fiend, no less.  And he _laughed_!  What was the issue now?

Oscar sidled up to me and mewed, slinking in between my legs.  I smiled sadly and picked him up, ruffling his bright fur.  "Oh, who knows," I said aloud, and punctuated this with a sneeze.  
  


The kitties were hungry for breakfast; Tom and Tiff padded into the kitchen and looked up expectantly at me.

"Your daddy's crazy, did you know that?" I told them.

Oscar's eyes closed, and he purred happily as I scratched behind his ears.  Yes, he knew that, but he still loved him, like the others did.  Why wouldn't they?  Freddie was a kindred spirit, more feline than human in many ways.  But when he was human... when he was vulnerable... there was no one more beautiful than he.

As much as I tried to stop thinking about last night, I couldn't.  I could not disregard that raw emotion in his eyes.  No boy, no man, had ever looked at me that way before.  There was more going on here than I was willing to concede.  I knew how I felt, but I could not accept the idea that Freddie might have those same feelings for me- and more.  To do that would invite far too much trouble.  And I'd caused enough trouble in one man's life without even going out of my way to bring it about.

_Besides_ , I said to myself, _I'm not his type.  I'm far too provincial. And I'm a girl.  And I'm not Mary.  Three big points against me.  There's no way._

The red light on my chest gave me hope.  And any hope at all, I greatly appreciated.  God willing, Freddie wouldn't have to deal with me for much longer- and I wouldn't have to overstay my welcome. 

After eating breakfast, then giving the cats theirs, I hustled upstairs to dress.  The dinner party was tomorrow, and so far, I was cooking.  Unless of course, Freddie changed his mind and enlisted Joe's help instead, as Joe was indeed an accomplished chef.  In the meantime, I was still on K.P. and buying the supplies was my responsibility.  The list of food and whatnot was scrawled in my journal; I pulled it out.

I opened the journal too quickly, and the two loose pages inside fluttered to the floor: the new lyrics for "My Melancholy Blues," and our marr- I beg your pardon.  _My_ marriage license to a fictitious person named Mark Zuckerberg.  Freddie left so fast he had forgotten to bring the license with him.  For a moment I toyed with the idea of bringing the license to Wessex, and save him a trip later.  I would have liked to see Deacy as well, he was so nice to me.  But in the end I chose not to.  I'd let Freddie fix his bet with Roger in his own way, on his own time.  And he didn't need me screwing up his morning further by making an appearance.

A bit absently, I folded them in half around each other, and tucked them both back between the pages, then ripped out the list.  It was a short list, thankfully.  Most everything we already had here.  The shorter the trip, the better.

**********************************************************************************

Cradling a bulging paper sack in each arm, I tumbled out of the taxi, mumbling the words to "Shattered" under my breath.  Well, almost.  The only words I knew were "Shadoobie, shat-tered."  But that was enough to get stuck in the head.

"Madam," the cabbie called after me.  I turned.  "Your change?"

"Just keep it," I called back to the rhythm of the song.  "Shat-tered.  Now, good day.  Shat-tered, shat-tered."

"Good day!" he said back with a little laugh, then drove off.  I walked down the sidewalk a little before I reached Freddie's door, still singing.

"Can I help you with that?" a woman said close behind me.

I shook my head.  "I'm okay, shat-tered.  But thank you, shat-tered sha- OOF!"

I didn't see the crack in the pavement, and the block jutting up from the ground just enough for my foot to catch on it.  I tripped and fell, dropping the groceries.

"Rats!" I muttered.  "That was the wrong song to sing."  Hoping nothing was indeed shattered, I immediately started putting groceries back in the bags.

Two other hands began assisting me.  I didn't look up right away to see who belonged to them, I was just grateful for the help.  Fortunately, the only casualties were a couple of bruised apples and one cracked egg.  Once everything was collected, I rose to my feet.

I began, "Thanks so m- AAAH!"

_Oh, great.  This just keeps getting better._

Mary dusted off her hands and looked at me, unfazed by my scream of surprise.  "Hello, Eve."

"Hi," I said, trying to recover.  "Thanks for helping me, I'll just, um-"

"Oh, please, allow me," she offered.  Before I could speak, Mary bent over and took one of the bags in her arms.  I shrugged, knowing I couldn't tell her to put it down.  I haven't really said much about how she looked.  She was about my size, in terms of height and weight, with pretty, wide-set eyes and long blonde hair that curled at the ends.  A lovely woman, to be sure. 

Very awkwardly then, I picked up the other bag, and we marched to the front door.  I reached into my pocket for the keys, but Mary was ahead of me.  Key in hand, she poked it into the lock and opened the door. 

"After you," she said in her cool, mild voice. 

"Again, thank you," I managed.  She followed me into Freddie's flat, shutting the door behind us.  Not only did she help me unpack the groceries, but she knew where everything belonged, and was familiar with every little nook and cranny in the flat.  And the longer she helped me, the more obvious it became that she wanted me to realize this.

I started to put something away, I don't know what, maybe it was a box of candlesticks or wafer crackers, I can't really remember- and Mary shook her head. 

"No, dear, that's wrong, I know where it goes," she said- and to my oversensitive ears, it sounded like she placed just a little too much emphasis on "I"- and took the box from me, placing it in a cupboard directly across the room, under the counter.

I do not like having things taken out of my hands.  Even when Freddie did it, it did not make me happy.  I bit my tongue hard, while in my head, the thoughts smoldered: _Look, I get it, he was yours first- and he still is.  Okay? I am not a threat to you.  I do not want to be a threat.  I'm Team Mary- always have been!  Don't you understand?_

Once all the groceries were put away, I said again, "Thank you so much, Mary, that was a big help."

She nodded.  "Of course, dear.  It was my pleasure." 

Her gray-green eyes said otherwise, however.

"What brings you here today, anyway?" I asked.

"Oh, Freddie asked me to come by," she explained.  "Apparently he left something here, some kind of document-"

"Oh, yes, the license!" I exclaimed, then when Mary's brows knit in confusion, I immediately downshifted into damage control mode.  "Uh, my license to- work here.  In Britain."

She blinked, her face unreadable.  "Your visa?"

"Y-Yes, my visa," I stuttered, fumbling for anything and everything. "He and Roger- they've been so, er, so nice, they're trying to hook me up with a job- with the unions.  The teachers' union, I think.  Because once I have a job, I can support myself and I won't have to impose on poor Freddie any longer.  I fully intend to leave soon."  For her sake, I repeated, " _Very_ soon."

"And they need your visa?"

"Yes, you see, Roger's got connections, he knows this one guy who knows someone who works in the teachers' union, and apparently there's an opening, but they want to make sure I'm legal, so to speak."  I took a deep breath.  _Hey, not bad for three seconds._

She nodded, apparently swallowing it.  "So where is it?"

"It's in that book there," I said casually, pointing at the dark green journal on the table.  "You know, I could take it to him right now if he nee-"

"Oh, no, I'll do it, I'd love to," Mary said.  "Freddie called me, after all, so I really should go ahead and-"

"Of course, of course," I nodded.  _That's right, darling.  He called YOU.  I KNOW!!!_   "Just give me a chance to put it in an envelope or something, please?"

"Certainly," she said. 

For no other reason except to be polite, I asked her, "And, uh, would you like some tea before you go?  It's just about that time."

As soon as the words left my lips, I prayed she would turn me down.  I was almost positive she would.  Alas: "You know, that would be lovely.  Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," I said quietly.  _Dammit!_

I busted out the teapot again, feeling Mary's gaze follow me about the kitchen.  Placing the full teapot on the stove, I turned on the fire under it, and hoped God would make the heat come extra quick- and the water, extra willing to take it in.  As Mary watched me, her lips stayed rather pursed.  _The feeling is mutual, love,_ I thought to myself dryly.

"There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about anyway," she said after a moment. 

I felt my shoulders hunch up a little, and I turned to face her.  "Oh, yes?" 

Mary nodded, and waved her hand for me to follow her into the parlor.  "In here, please."

_Her eyes_ , I thought to myself.  _They don't change.  Her face muscles move, but her expression, the look in her eyes, is constant.  It's- flat.  Even yesterday, I could tell she was in pain, but it was basically the same look.  She has flat eyes.  Pretty, but flat._

She sat down and patted the cushion at her side, forcing a smile.  I did as she asked, drawing my lips back in a grin that did not reflect my feelings.  Tiffany hopped up onto the sofa with us, nestling herself comfortably in Mary's lap.  Oscar padded over too, but instead of getting up into my face like usual, he stayed on the floor and lay down right on my feet.  Tom didn't move from his spot in the comfy chair.  Lazy thing.

_Who says animals aren't political,_ I said to myself glibly.  _Look at this.  Even they take sides._

"I was just curious," she began, stroking Tiffany's fur.  "How did you two- run into each other?"

"By accident," I replied.  "He didn't seek me out, if that's what you mean."

She nodded.  "By accident."

"It's a long story, Freddie would probably be better at telling you."

"He did tell me," Mary said.  "It simply doesn't make any sense."

I shrugged.  "No, it really doesn't.  But it happened."

"And how long have you been- living here?"

"About eleven days now."  I stared off into space a moment.  "He's very generous."

"Yes," she murmured.  "Very.  Sometimes to a fault."

I glanced at Mary, wondering what she meant by that exactly.  But again, her face was a blank slate.  Not even a mask, like Freddie's dark, fiery eyes required.  Just a perfect vacuum, from which there was nothing to be gleaned.

"Maybe so," I agreed.  "I wouldn't know, I don't know him like you do."

She shrugged modestly.  "It's nice that he tells me things.  I'm glad he trusts me.  I don't know why he does- and sometimes I wish he wouldn't.  It can be so hard on occasion."

"I'm sure," I nodded. 

"He feels safe with me, I suppose," she mused.  "It's a blessing and a curse, you know.  And in this case," she added, "it's a curse."

"Why would it be a curse?"

"Because he told me he's in love."

"He is?" I gasped, and clapped my hands together with sloppily overdone joy- while my stomach did a somersault inside me.  _Don't assume.  Don't  you dare assume._   "Oh, how nice!  It's so marvelous to be in love."

"It can be," Mary nodded.  "It can also be hell."

"That's fantastic!  Anyone I know?"

"Oh, yes, you know them well."

"Oh, perfect!  Do they know how he feels?"

"Evidently not."

"Oh, then can I tell them?  Or is it a secret?"

"It's no secret now."

"Yay!  Maybe I can relay the message, see how they rea-"

"You don't need to."

I frowned.  "Why not?"

"Because it's you."

"What's me?"

"Freddie's in love with you."

I burst into hysterical, yet totally mirthless, laughter, knowing that she had to be kidding.  Mary didn't seem like the kind to tell jokes, or even really laugh at them, but she had to be making an exception here.  Had to!  I laughed so hard my ribs ached, and my eyes watered.  Oh, this lady was a riot!  Freddie in love!  With ME!

At last I pulled myself back together, dabbing at the corners of my eyes, and looked at Mary.  Her face was like stone, hands folded in her lap.  The words "humor" and "joke" could be found nowhere in this picture. 

"I'm not sure you realize this," Mary said tightly, "but I wasn't kidding."

I blinked, taking a deep breath.  "How can you be so sure that-"

"Because he told me so himself," she cut me off.  Her patience with me had waned quite a bit.

The bottom seemed to fall out of the world.  "When?"

"Yesterday," she replied.  "Yesterday afternoon.  He was terribly upset that you ran off like that.  And while we were having tea, he just point blank informed me that he- well, that he was in love."

I stared at Mary, all of my senses feeling as though they had spontaneously shut down.  Stiffly I rose from the sofa as I realized the high-pitched scream I was hearing was not coming from inside me, but from the kitchen.

"I'd better go make the tea," I mumbled, and all but sprinted into the kitchen where the teapot was wailing for attention with Oscar tagging along at my heels.

I didn't believe it.  I would not believe it.  It simply was not true.  And besides, what business was it of Mary's to come telling me how Freddie felt?  If he felt like that, why wasn't he the one to tell me?  There.  Just went to show how untrue her words were. Such a terrible trick she was pulling on me, telling me such a dreadful lie!

Mary tiptoed into the kitchen.  "Eve?"

"What are you doing?" I exploded, whirling on her.  "Do you think I want him to- feel that way?  Do you think I want that?"

"My dear, please calm down-"

"Then stop this!  He does not love me!  He loves-"

Mary put her hand on my arm to steady me.  "I didn't say he loved you."

I opened my mouth, then closed it.  I stood there, confused, before finally I found the words, "But- but you just said-"

"I said he was in love.  There's a difference."

"Yeah?" I whispered, leaning wearily against the counter.

She only nodded.

I slid the teapot off the hot eye, and rubbed my face.  "Okay.  You speak Freddie, so enlighten me.  What did he mean?"

"Freddie," she said with a sigh, "is a very emotional man.  Passions run so high in him, it's really quite astounding.  He falls in love faster than anyone I've ever seen- and falls out of love just as quickly.  Do you understand?  I mean, you must have seen it.  Ten or so days-"

"I know what you mean," I whispered.  "Go on."

"You're an American.  When you think of love, you think, domestic things.  You think, marriage, devotion, commitment."

"Don't the English value those things, too?"

"Of course we do," Mary said, this time with a twinge of sadness in her voice, but her eyes, again, didn't change.  "But that's not the sort of thing that Freddie... um..."

I nodded, my throat beginning to feel tight.  I turned toward the cups of hot water, and placed a tea bag in each to steep a minute.  "Freddie shuns the domestic."

"Exactly," she said.  "And what's more... well, perhaps you already know this, but-"

"But what?" I asked, handing her the tea.

She gazed into her cup as the tea leaves colored the water.  "Did you know that Freddie is gay?"

_Ooo, big surprise there,_ I thought to myself sarcastically. "He's not gay," I muttered.  "He's bi."

"Trust me," she said gravely.  "He's much more gay than he may have wanted to admit to you quite yet."

"So he's gay, but he's in love with me.  Dear, I wish you'd make up your mind."

"I'm getting there," she said irritably.  "I know who he is inside, I know where his heart lies.  That's who he is, and if it makes him happy, that's all I can ask for.  It's just..."

"What?"

"You're confusing him, I think.  He's confused again.  He doesn't know what he wants.  He wants to live as he's been living, but he also wants you."

I rubbed my eyes.  "Did he tell you it was okay to tell me about his sexuality, Mary, or is this you just grabbing the reins and going for it?"

"I want to make it as clear as I can, you became so incensed earlier," she explained.  "See, to be honest, I don't think he's even in love with you as a person, exactly."

I had never imagined Mary being this way, speaking as callously as she was now.  I thought she was kind, I thought she was gentle.  And perhaps with other people, Freddie included, she was, but not with me.  I was a threat, and now, things were getting personal.  And that last one hurt. 

Still, I forced a quip, "Oh, no?  Then what's he in love with me as, then?  A kangaroo?"

"That's not what I mean.  Freddie's infatuated with your mystery, I think, as much as anything else.   He adores newness.  There's nothing he enjoys more than opening up a wrapped gift to see what's inside.  He's in love with what he doesn't know- and the fact that you won't let him know."

"That's rather childish, isn't it?" I said aloud.

"But that's what I'm saying.  He does have a childlike way about him.  He loves a challenge, it's true.  And you, clearly, are a worthy challenge for him to keep on trying for you this way." She looked me up and down.  "I don't blame him, honestly.  You're a lovely girl."

"That's great, but I can't let this go on.  This is bad."

Mary nodded.  "Right."

I brought my tea to my lips, forgetting the sugar and cream.  "So how do I get him to fall out of love, then?"

"Simple.  Sleep with him."

I stopped mid-swallow, but I didn't choke this time. My eyes bugged.   "What did you say?"

"He wants to do away with your mystery, so let him.  Sleep with him."

Mary said this so offhandedly, I wanted to cry.  I walked away from her a little, whispering, "I don't believe this."

"You do realize that's why he's kept you near for as long as he has?"

"What?"

"Think about it."

But I had already thought about it; Mary was only confirming my fears.  Was that why he'd become so upset?  Because he realized I was on to him?  Or was he simply angry that, for the umpteenth time, a potentially passionate moment had been disrupted, and I was to blame?  It wasn't my fault he had been doing without sex the past week and a half- assuming that was even true.  Again, the question had to be asked, why did this matter so much? 

And why- _why_ \- was this conversation hurting me so badly?

My face contorted in such a way that advertised a soon appearance of tears.  Mary walked up behind me and put her arm around my shoulders.

"Eve," she whispered.  "You- you're not in love with him yourself, are-"

"No," I said quickly.  "Not at all.  He's my friend."  _At least, I thought he was._  

Mary blinked.  "That's it?"

"That's it," I said through gritted teeth.  I looked back up at her.  "But- you say sleeping with him will- fix things?"

"I think it will," she told me.  "Dear, I'm not trying to be cruel, this is simply how he works.  Freddie's a wonderful man, and he gives so much of himself.  But in order to -um, I suppose, connect, and help him, even as a friend, you have to give at least a little of yourself, too."

_To truly understand a hippo, one must be a hippo_ , I thought to myself bitterly.  _This is a little different from what university taught me.  Freddie-Logic trumps all here in Freddie Land._

Mary took one final sip of her tea, and said, "Anyway, I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you," I whispered automatically.

"I really ought to be going, Freddie's waiting on me. I just need the license, and I'll be off."

"Yes, yes, take it.  Go right ahead," I bobbed my head up and down.  My composure was wearing so thin now.

"But weren't you going to-"

"It's over there, please, just take it," I said, by now just wanting her to leave.  I didn't care anymore. 

"Oh, all right.  Thank you."  Mary walked over and rustled about behind me.  "I hope I didn't upset you."

"Oh, no, not at all," I managed.  "You're - you're just trying to help, I know."

"That's all I want," she replied.  From behind she put her hand on my elbow and squeezed.  "Goodbye, Eve- and good luck."

I turned, somehow pulling my face into a dry, steady smile.  "Same to you, Mary."

She smiled back- Mary was indeed so pretty, and she would stay pretty even as she got older- then walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.  Within a few seconds, I heard the front door open and shut.  And two tears, one from each eye, trickled down my cheeks.  Those were all the tears I would allow myself right now.

To this day, I don't claim to know Mary's true motivation in coming and telling me all this.  I don't believe it was malicious, perhaps she really was trying to help me.  It's altogether possible she was trying to remove me from the picture faster, I don't deny that.  And really, I don't blame her.  Mary loved Freddie.  And I believe that she still does, even now.  I wasn't present during the time they spent as lovers, and what few moments I witnessed between them as good friends are hardly enough to draw any conclusions.  I only know what I saw and what I heard.

But right that moment, I felt like I had been stuck and roasted on a spit, unable to cry out and release my feelings thanks to the apple shoved down my throat.  And I was honestly considering her words.

_Sleep with him_ , I said to myself numbly.  _This is just like Yoko telling May Pang to be John's mistress.  Good God.  Oh, Good God!  What have I gotten myself into?_

But she had a point.  I was a wrapped gift box, with a tag that said "Do Not Open Until Married."  And there I was, just sitting there, and Freddie, with that lingering residue of immaturity, couldn't bear the suspense. 

But wouldn't that cancel whatever was letting me stay here while I got my life together?  If I took away that allure, that mystery, Freddie would no longer wonder, would no longer desire.  Appetite appeased, he'd let go, drop me like a good habit. 

I shook my head.  No, it worked both ways.  He might get tired of waiting, impatient man that he was.  He was already becoming so testy with me.  It was a race now, between his impatience and my surrender.  And, to quote a song I've learned to love, "Every way I go, I'm bound to lose."

My tight throat constricted further.  Already I knew what I was about to do.  I'd been so strong this whole time- and God had been so wonderful to save me on so many occasions.  But Mary, I realized, was right.  I would have to give a little.  I would have to give myself.  This was not the way I wanted to make love for the first time, but in this world, in this place, with that man, I didn't see any other option.

"Oh, God, help me," I croaked, "Get me out of here fast!"

I put my face in my hands and ran up the stairs.  I had to pull myself together before Freddie came back.  And then there was the whole matter of preparing myself for tonight.  That sheer, dark green nightgown certainly had made an impression a little while ago.  And should I wear lots of makeup, or none?  And what kind of perfume would set him off the best?  So many questions, so many, many important matters to settle.

In my daze, I failed to notice that the journal no longer sat on the table.

 


	54. Birdman's Eye View: Stuck on the Sidelines

_Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP-_

Ah!  It's about time they called.  I waited all day yesterday, keeping the Relic close by the whole time.  I even brought it along when we took Robert to see his grandparents yesterday afternoon.  We didn't get back into town till late.  Bloody London Bridge traffic.

The Relic sits just within arm's reach, on the kitchen counter.  I reach over, and push the button on the side.  It pops open, revealing the keypad.  I love that.  It makes me feel a little like a spy about to receive a secret assignment from MI6.  

"Hello?" K's voice crackles through once I press the answer button.

"It's Deacon," I murmur playfully.  " _John_ Deacon."  I'm in a wonderful mood this morning.

The one called Tim sounds just as irascible as ever.  "Is Julia nearby?"

I hesitate.  "Uh... why?"

"Is it those funny people again?" Veronica asks, sitting at the table with her tea.

"The same," I reply.  "Be right back."

Once I'm in my study, I snatch up the list of questions that I made out yesterday.  These chaps have a lot of explaining to do.  

"I heard a woman's voice," K cries, "was that her?"

"No, that was my wife," I reply.

"Yesterday her tracker came back online," Tim says.  "She must be close!"

_I dunno, probably_ , is what I think to myself, but over the phone I bluster, "That she is, guv.  So near it would make your head swim."

"Then why do you still have this phone?  Get it back to her!"

"Hold on a moment," I say.  "Not so fast.  First I want answers."

"Answers?"

"I know where she is, and you do not.  And we only have a minute or so before we cut out, so we need to make this time count!"

"It's none of your concern-"

"It is if I say it is.  Let me put it this way: either you cooperate, sweethearts, or you ain't seein' Doll Face ever again!" Hey, not a bad Bogart impression at all.  Nasal voices aren't always so bad.

And, just as I had hoped would happen, K buckles.  "All right, all right!  What do you want to know?"

That was easy.

"Who are you people?  Who is Julia?  Why did you send her down here?"

"Let me answer that, Steve, you talk too much," Tim steps in.  "Now, then, Mr. Deacon.  You want to know about Julia?"

"First tell me who you are- and please be honest.  Are you spies or something?"

"Actually, yes," Tim sighs.  "We're a new secret anti-Communism program that EMI and the BBC started up in order to protect, um- Western music from subliminal Marxist messages- and we've had reports that you guys, Queen, are spreading Soviet propaganda."

"What?" I begin to laugh.  "Soviet propaganda?  What kind of-"

"It's no laughing matter," Tim interrupts.  K tries to cut in but he is rebuffed.  "There's been talk that your own 'Bohemian Rhapsody' is actually a modern communist manifesto."

I'm roaring now.  This is too much.  "What decade are you living in?  The fifties?"

But this is Tim's story and he's sticking to it.  "Laugh if you want, all you're doing is making it worse for yourself."

"And Julia is your woman in the field, Mr. McCarthy?"

"She sure is!  You've seen her with her journal, haven't you?  Taking notes, observing you in your natural habitat?"

There, though, the evidence sticks a little.  Julia does have a journal, and all the time she was with us on Thursday, she was writing in it, and holding up some black thing, almost like a portable voice recorder, perhaps, or one of those ridiculously small cameras from the Bond films. 

Still, I laugh it off.  "Well, if that's why she's here, I'll wager she's been greatly disappointed, I don't think there's anything Soviet about the songs she's heard from us."

"Well, what's she heard?"

"Oh, God, I dunno.  A little jazz song, and we did some of Roger's 'Fight From the Inside'-"

"AH-HA!  Bingo!  That has U.S.S.R. written all over it."

Roger the Communist.  Uh, no.  "Um, I think you're a little too excited, we're not Russian tools-" 

"Oh, please, it's always the Russians," Tim snarls.  "Everyone knows that.  The election, the chemical attack, the emails-"

Chemical attack?  "Wha-?"

"Jesus, this is so stupid."  K's clearly had just about enough.  Weary truth resounds in his halting voice.  "Look, John, it's like this.  Brace yourself.  We are scientists, and this was a first test of our-"

"STEVE!"

"Oh, shut up, Tim!  She's been gone too long and we need her back!  Her family will start asking questions, and then we'll be discovered, and the media will go wild!  No- the WORLD will go wild!  Literally!  And that's exactly what George told us not to do!"

"What are you on about?"  I try to interject.

"Besides," K keeps ranting, "he won't remember, he's so far into the past he'll forget.  Forty years, it'll be!  There's not a chance in-"

"Forty years?"  For some reason, there's a twinge in my stomach. 

"Yes, forty years, Julia was supposed to go back and meet someone else but she flubbed it- and she wound up with you guys.  I can't explain it, maybe T-Rod's got a glitch in the system, but she's there and we need to bring her back!"

" _Forty years_?" I repeat.  Now my head hurts, too.

"That's where she's from, Mr. Deacon," K says breathlessly.  "Forty years from where you are now."

"Your first story was better," I say.  But I can't shake the twinge.  There's something wrong here.  Something very, very wrong.  "But whoever you are, this Relic- it's Julia's way home, right?"

"Partly.  The tracker and the- what did you call the phone?"

"The Relic.  Julia calls it that."

"You need t- ge- to her-"

Shit!  They're cutting out.  "Okay, I will, I will!"

"Soo- -s possib-!"

"Straight away!  But- oh!  One more thing!"

"Wh-?"

"What was the thing about Vegas?"

"Veg- oh, jus- noth-   married-"

"Marriage?  Whose?"

"Eve-"

_Click._

I stand there a moment and rub my eyes.  My head feels like putty.  Forty years?  Scientists?  Am I to understand that Julia is not an angel, like Freddie speculates, but a -time traveler?  

So Julia, if those loons are to be believed, is from the future?

_Too many science fiction books, John_ , I tell myself.  _Wake up, get a hold of yourself.  Asimov's playing tricks on you._

Suddenly I want to believe their first barmy story about the Anti-Communist thing.  At least that, I can sort of accept.  For this is so far-fetched, so completely beyond comprehension.  Time travel isn't possible!  It's a dream, a dream of desperate men who spend their lives looking behind them, wishing they could have fixed that one little mistake they made somewhere along the way.  But what happens, happens, and life goes on.  Time travel can never be!

And yet- isn't that what they said to Edison when he spoke of harnessing electricity for practical use?  And the Wright Brothers, when they schemed to take to the skies in a flying machine?  And people across the ages, who fantasized about touching the stars, walking upon the moon, building computers that can do more than twice the work of Man in half the time- all ideas that once were considered pure imagination, pure science fiction, and dismissed as impossible- all ideas that _now_ are mundane and commonplace. 

In an age when we can split an atom and thereby lay waste to an entire city, is there such a thing anymore as impossible?

Wow.  That was rather profound.  Sometimes I surprise myself.  Ha.

But I know one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt.  Julia needs this back.  And fast.  I look at the Relic's monochrome screen, which shows the power level down to about half now.  And there's nothing here that can recharge its battery.  Once this thing dies, it dies. 

I rub my face, walking out of the den.  "What time is it, love?" I call to Veronica.

"About nine" is her reply.

"That means it's five in Tokyo.  Good enough for me."  I open the liquor cabinet and pull out my gin.  I've got a splitting headache and I haven't even reached the studio yet. 

"Banzai," I say to myself, and drain the glass.  Hopefully the afternoon will be better than this morning.  It couldn't possibly get any more perplexing. 

Or could it?

In my infinite wisdom, I leave the Relic at home, partly because I assume Freddie won't be back just yet, partly because I don't want to bother the other boys with its tinny Wagner ringtone, but mostly because I simply forget to bring it along. One glass of gin actually became three, in rapid succession, and I'm feeling quite elevated once more.  I hope no one notices.

The minute I walk in, I remember, because of who's already there, but it's too late to do anything about it.  Brushing past Crystal, who's stepping out for a moment, I see Freddie's already waist-deep in work, and John Harris is sitting there alongside him to help when the bells and whistles of Wessex's equipment become too overwhelming.  Freddie's no techie, but he tries.

"Oi!  Freddie, you're back," I say.

He turns and looks at me, forcing a smile.  "Hey, Deaks.  What'd I miss?"

There's a funny look in his eyes- a subtle warning that I must step carefully.  "Not much, really, just technical things- and we recorded that blues-type song of Brian's-"

"Yeah, I know, I was just listening to it," he says.  "It's nice."

"Could you, uh," I say cautiously, "hear any flubs on the bass part?"

"Flubs?"

"Never mind."  Splendid.  If Freddie couldn't hear any of my mistakes, then no one would.  John Harris gets up and leaves the room a moment, off to get some bit of tape or something, so it's just Freddie and myself.

He rises from his chair, walking toward me.  "So," he murmurs softly.  "You fixed the Relic, I suppose."

"Yeah!" I nod.  "Nothing to it."  I wonder, should I tell him I've been speaking to Julia's superiors?  Or would that only make things more complicated? 

"Do you have it?" he asks.

"No, I left it behind, I didn't think you'd be back already.  Where'd you go?"

"Just ran an errand," he says briefly.

_You call Vegas an errand?_   I think to myself.  "Did you take Julia?"

Freddie's eyes widen, and too late I realize my slip of the tongue.  "Who's Julia?"

"Uh..." I stand there like a moron, my throat dry.  Well, so much for that.

He hesitates a moment, thinks to himself, then says, "Is that Eve's real name?"

"Well, yes, actually," I answer.

"How do you know?"

"The Relic.  I got to talk to the people she, um..."

"Her Boss?"

"Sort of, maybe, I don't know, they're certainly above her, though."

He nods, his expression melting a little.  "I suspected that might be her name.  It was a tie between that and Penny.  But she looks much more like a Julia.  Her eyes, you know- and her lips..."

What do lips have to do with a name?  But he's obviously not thinking about names.   Odd, that he doesn't ask me who she is- who those people are.  He's simply not curious.  Maybe that's for the best; now doesn't seem like a good time to tell him that Julia is an alleged time traveler from the future- and I can't believe I just said that and meant it.

Freddie's drifting away, reflecting on something.  Reflecting on her.  My God, he is distracted by that girl.  He's usually so much more focused than this, no matter what's happening in his private world. 

I try to pull him back down to Earth.  "So she didn't tell you?  Her name, I mean."

"No.  She didn't.  What else is new."  He sits back down, looking much more unhappy then perhaps he would have liked for me to notice. 

"You all right?" I ask, expecting a non-answer- which is not what I get.

"I'm fine, I suppose.  I just- the past twenty-four hours have not been the best."  He speaks more to himself than to me, so for a moment I just stand there. 

"How _is_ the stray kitten, anyway?" I venture.

Freddie shrugs.  "She's herself.  She made me breakfast this mor-"

I don't notice the way he cuts himself off, and how much further his face falls.  "What did she make?"

He looks down at his lap, then at the door, then back down.  "I don't know."

Right, maybe I should let this go.  I start for my bass guitar, which is sitting there waiting for me.  I call over my shoulder, "It's good you're back, though, we missed you.  Things were far too quiet around here the past few days-"

"She's so ready to get out of here, John," Freddie suddenly blurts. 

I turn to see Freddie staring at me, looking altogether helpless.  It's an odd air for him, I don't like it. 

"That's only natural," I say with a shrug.  "She's got a family too, very likely."

"She does," he nods, his voice almost bitter.  "A nice friendly gingerbread family, complete with a gingerbread dog, and they all live together in their tight little gingerbread house."

There's a rustling outside the studio door.  Freddie throws a furtive glance at it a moment, then when no one steps inside, he continues.  "Thing is, she's not gingerbread."

I cock my head.  "But her family is?"

"Eve- I mean, Julia doesn't know any different,  because I mean- you long for what you're used to, and living with me- it's probably still terribly jarring, my manner of life, compared to hers, but- but it's not just that, you know, it's something else too."

He's begun to ramble.  Now I'm really listening.  Sarcastic quips aside, he trips pretty hard over his words when it means something. This must genuinely mean something.

"What?" I coax.

"She thinks she _is_ gingerbread- or she wants to think she's gingerbread, OR she wants me to think that she thinks she is gingerbread, just like she wants me to think that she thinks that I think she's a noose around my neck."

I blink, a little dizzy.  I've had too much to drink too early, and that was too many "thinks" at one time to keep up with.  "I caught 'noose'."

Freddie huffs in frustration, rolling his eyes.  "What's the use, she's so set in her mind."

"About what?" 

"Everything.  I know it's true.  God, she's terrified.  Even now, after our trip, after everything, she's so f---ing scared."

"Of what?"  I pick up my bass and seat myself in the control room.  It's here Freddie says something odd, that he doesn't get the chance to explain.

"Either the little minx I know is in her- or the absolute monster she sees in me."  

I'm bent over my guitar, about to start tuning it.  My thumb plucks the E string, and it sounds a little sharp.  Taking the knob in my fingers, I start to loosen it, when I feel two eyes boring holes into the top of my head.  I glance up to see Freddie looking directly at me.  His face is blank, but there's something very serious going on behind his eyes.

Quietly, he says, "I'm not a monster, John.  I'm really not.  Why can't she accept that?"

I've been asked awkward questions before, but this leaves them all behind.  Of course he isn't a monster, but how do you even say that and sound sincere- and say it to _him_?  I open my mouth, about to answer if I even can, when the door flings open - and Freddie's disposition does a complete turnabout.  I'm saved by Brian.

"There you are," Brian greets him.  "We actually got a good head start on a few things- recorded a chief bit of 'Sleeping on the Sidewalk' on Saturday."

"I know, you darlings have been so productive," Freddie replies.  "I'll try my best to catch up.  Also, that other thing, kind of followed Sleeping-?"

"That's the 'Feelings Feelings'-"

"Oh, right, right, right!  You mentioned that about a week ago, yes, that needs vocals, maybe a little more guitar in some places, we'll see if that song will take off.  My God, Brian, you've just been on a blues tear lately, I love it.  I want to get to 'Spread Your Wings' today, too.  We can't let that slip through the cracks, it's too nice.  Sound good to you, John?"

I nod, grinning.  Seems to me like Freddie's already caught up and we haven't even done anything collectively yet today.  

"Well, look who decided to make an appearance!"  Roger coos, striding in as cockily as ever. "Where've you been, old man?"

"Had a little errand to run," Freddie says, sweeping his hand in a lofty circle.  Now there's a sly grin spread across his face.  The rather pleading, lonely expression has vanished.  Yes, indeed, he's back in action.

"God, Freddie, you look like you know where the bodies are buried," Roger remarks.

"It's not where, darling," he says.  "It's _who_."

Roger takes his drumsticks out of their pouch, snickering.  John Harris comes back, muttering to himself, with two extra spools of tape in his hands, likely asking himself "Where the f--- is Mike?"  Crystal also walks in and starts fiddling with Roger's drum set.

"But in all seriousness," Freddie hums, "I've got a rather rude surprise in store for you, perhaps you'd better sit down."

"What's that?"

"Sit down first!  I won't have you fainting dead away on the floor."

So Roger plops down in the chair beside him, leans back, and puts his feet lazily up on the counter.  "All right, I'm in position, let's have it."

Freddie claps his hands once.  "Right!  So, you know how adamant you were about how my little friend isn't married?"

Brian groans, "If you two are going to start that again-"

"It's so quick, darling, two seconds and I'm finished!" Freddie dismisses him.

"Yeah?"  Roger nods.  "Go on."

"Well, it would seem," Freddie croons, "that she actually does have the paperwork to prove it."

"And how'd you go abo-" Roger cuts himself off.  "Hold on, do you mean to tell me you went all the way to-"

"We did!" Freddie replies.  "There and back in one weekend.  And we have it."

"The license?" Roger's brows shoot up.  He obviously never counted on Freddie being so hardcore over something apparently so trivial.  As for me, my suspicions are confirmed.  They went to Vegas- but how'd they get a marriage license?  Did they forge it?  Or-

Or is there a secret within the secret?  It's too dangerous to ask for certain.  So I don't.  But still, how would Julia's K know anything about that?  Was that what she was supposed to do?  Get Freddie to Las Vegas?  Answer one question, two more stand in its place.  Why do I bother.  Freddie's a myriad of secrets all wrapped up in a single flesh and blood package, and Julia is just the same.  And here I am, stuck in the middle, burdened with bits and pieces that are leaked to me and me only.

"The license!" Freddie repeats.  "And I- oh, f---.  Left it at home."

"Convenient," Roger sniggers, rising from the chair and putting his arms up for a stretch.

Freddie shrugs it off and gets up too.  "I'll just have her bring it by.  One moment."  So Freddie slips out of the control room to reach the phone outside.  The rest of us get going with work, tuning things, jamming quietly to ourselves.  It's about ten minutes before Freddie reappears.

"So's Okoy going to pay a call on us?" Roger asks.  

"No, she didn't answer.  She's probably busy."  Freddie's mouth twitches, and for a split second I can see that flash of guilt spark across his features.  "Mary's bringing it over."

That's nice, I like Mary.  We all do.  Still, I'm growing rather fond of the stray kitten, and the slightest disappointment flares up in me.  No matter.  Mary's a sweet girl, even if things seem a little strained between her and Freddie lately.  But that's none of my business.

About an hour and a half later, while we're working on Brian's "Feelings Feelings," the control room door opens and Mary steps in.  All of us are in the studio proper, about to do our ninth take on the song.

"Take 9," Freddie announces.  Mike starts the tapes, and Roger counts off.  Away we go, this time with Mary watching.  Freddie sees her and waves, and she waves back with a smile.  She's got something like a book in her hands, but that's all I see, and I've dried out considerably since earlier so I'm concentrating almost exclusively upon the bass line now, closing my eyes and jerking my head back and forth to the beat.

When we finish, Mike stops the tapes from rolling.  Freddie makes a few rather unintelligible comments about what could be fixed about this or that.  Brian looks visibly confused as he talks.  Freddie really is not the best at explaining things, the thoughts fly so quick in his head that his tongue can't get them out fast enough to sound intelligent.  Often he relies on "ba-dum-dah-tssh's" for the drum critiques and either "nyah nyahs" or "blingablings" for tips about the guitars.  But we know not to laugh.  We know it well.

Then Freddie slips out of the studio into the control room, takes Mary's hands in his, and kisses her cheek.  He leaves the door open so we can hear a bit of the conversation.  

"...In there, I think," Mary says, pointing at the book.  "She said it was."

"So J- Eve was there?" Freddie asks, confused.

"Yes, we had a nice visit," she replies.  

"Hm," Freddie says.  

"Anything else you need me to do?"

"Oh, no, dear, thank you."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."  She smiles.

"Ah yes!  I will, it's going to be fun.  Thank you again, darling, you're lovely," Freddie says, and kisses her lips this time, putting his arms around her.  When he pulls away, Mary looks intently at his face, which I can't see since his back is turned toward the window.  After a moment, she turns, head lowered, and walks out.  

Freddie wastes no time.  "So!  Here it is, hot off the presses," he calls to us, marching back in.  He opens the book and pulls out a folded piece of lined white paper that has handwriting all over it.  Freddie's not looking to see, though, and hands it to Roger.

"Read it and weep," Freddie says triumphantly.

Roger turns the folded paper over in his hands.  He wrinkles his nose.  "Freddie, these are song lyrics."

"Huh?"  Freddie looks and sees.  "Oh, Roger, you silly ass, open it up!  it's wrapped around!"

"Ohhh..." Roger opens the folded paper up, handing the "Melancholy Blues" lyrics to Freddie, and there it is.  After a few minutes of Roger reading silently to himself, he puts his hands up in concession.

"All right, man, you win," Roger laughs.  "The bet's off.  It's official.  Your little girlie is free.  Was it worth it?"

"Every mile, every penny," Freddie winks, then looks down at the lyrics, idly turning them over.  "If you had just believed us the first..."  He trails off.  

"Witnesses: Steven J. Kurzweil, and Rudolph C. Barnes," Roger reads aloud, then muses to himself, "Who's Steven?"

A light goes off in my brain, and suddenly everything fits together.  Steve, also known as "K", who knew about the Vegas trip, and knew Eve Dubroc by name.  They are the same person.  My blood goes cold.  Forty years ago, he said that one time.  Forty years ago, he had been present at the wedding.  He was a witness forty years ago, but this had only happened last weekend!

My stomach churns, and the world suddenly becomes much more alien than it was this morning.  I believe it now.  It's still such a mystery, then hows and the whys, but I believe it.  And my friend needs to know just who is living with him.

I look at Freddie, but he doesn't look back.  He's still staring at the paper in his hands.  His face is pale, his eyes wide with shock.  His jaw clenches.  Very slowly I see his lips move, forming three words.

_That... little... bitch..._

I gulp.  What's he reading?  Does he already know?

Slowly, then, he looks up, crushing the paper in his fists and throwing it down.  His eyes, burning fiercely, drift to the book itself, which is sitting on the piano.  Freddie glides towards it and flips it open, the pages naturally falling to the last line written.  Brian's chatting quietly with Roger by the drums, Mike's talking to the sound guys in the recording booth.  All of a sudden-

BROONG BROONG BROONG BROOOOOOOOONG!!!

Freddie slams his fists down incoherently onto the keys.  Everyone looks up, startled.  We stare at Freddie's arched back, his shoulders moving up and down heavily with his breathing.

Slowly, then, he lifts his head, and turns, the blood now flushing his cheeks.  His jaw is still set, and his fists clenched, but his eyes are flat, the way they are on stage.  For some reason, my thoughts float to Julia.  What did he just read?

"Sorry, darlings," he murmurs.  "Let's get back to it.  Let's do another take, shall we?"

Take 10 is much better than the one before it, but Freddie sounds rougher, a little distracted, and angry.  The journal sits open on the piano, which he casually flips to the first page.  By the end of the day, he will have finished the whole thing.

And as busy as we become, I still think of Julia, keeping her in the back of my mind.  I stand here on the sidelines, biting my nails, involuntarily caught up.  My hands are tied, I can't involve myself unless they drag me into it- and something tells me I will be. I know what that look said.  I know what it means.

It means, _Man the lifeboats, Julia._

 


	55. Monstrous Tempers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This part gets a little rough. Viewer discretion advised.

I sat before the mirror in Freddie's bathroom, the medicine cabinet pulled open.  There I had found a motley collection of makeup products, various stage cosmetics that found their way home with him such as foundation (which I couldn't use, Freddie's skin was much more olive than mine), eyeliner, even blush.  There were other things in the cabinet, like aspirin and a bottle of sleeping pills that I pondered abusing, but decided against it. 

 Still other, more relevant items lined the shelves, but I just pushed them to the back.  I knew what was going down tonight, I didn't need a half-used tube of lubricant staring me in the face to remind me.  

The clock had struck eight outside, and dinner was in the oven. I knew it was highly unlikely Freddie would bother coming home for dinner, but I had started a little something anyway. A futile effort, but an effort nonetheless. It had been raining since about three in the afternoon, the temperature at a constant seventy-five. The very definition of an English summer. Though not a hot night, it was certainly a wet one. I shivered, my skin feeling as clammy as it had all day.

"That's right, pleased to meet you- I still won't tell you my name," Vanity heaved through my phone's speaker.  I had been forcing myself to listen to "Nasty Girl" by Vanity 6 on repeat for the past couple of hours in order to get in the mood.  So far, there hadn't been much progress.  

I had been wrestling passionately with my emotions, forcing myself not to break down and cry, even though that was the only thing I wanted to do. I was petrified, I was miserable, I was hurt.  No, not just hurt, I was bleeding; my heart was dying the death of a thousand cuts.  That's how it felt.

_I'm going to disappoint him_ , I kept saying to myself.  _I won't be able to please him.  I don't know how.  He'll be disappointed and then I will be nothing to him.  Just like that.  Because as much as I care for him as a friend, as fond as I am of him in ways besides the physical, I am just a body to him.  Oh, why couldn't we have just stayed friends?  
_

Did I really have the right to be so shocked? Was it my heart's privilege to be in such agony? I had known this of Freddie all along. All of this aligned perfectly with his noncommittal attitude from at least late 1977 onward till the mid-1980s, a.k.a. the Prenter Period. Yet now it stung me horribly as I was reminded he truly saw me as just another link in the chain.  Freddie's Chain of Fools.  It hurt to think such things about him- but I had no choice.  They were true.

_Maybe I should just run_ , I mused.  

"Yeah," I scoffed aloud.  "Run where?  Catch the British equivalent of a Greyhound and get off where?  And do what?"  

I tried to be clinical.  To up and run was not a thoughtful thing to do.  Besides, Freddie wouldn't immediately abandon me.  He still needed me to cook tomorrow.  And anyway, I had to offer something in return for his goodness.  Freddie had been so good to me, regardless of the motive behind it.  

_I don't have much to give_ , I said to myself.  _Just my virginity.  Hopefully that would be enough._

I nodded, swallowed, then bent over the toilet and threw up.  

It was all well and fine to tell myself these things.  But it didn't keep the tears from sticking in my throat, or my stomach from violently churning.  This was not how I had wanted it to happen.  It would be so cold, so dispassionate, no matter how hot he might get, or how hard he might thrust.  How could it be called making love, when there wasn't any love in his heart for me?

_Oh, God. Don't just stand there, do something._

And He did.  It took me months to realize that's what happened, but He did. _  
_

But right then, with Vanity moaning the explicit lyrics (explicit for the eighties, anyway; leave it to Prince to push the envelope), I could only see as far as this evening.  I wiped my mouth and brushed my teeth, then finally set to work on my face. _  
_

It took ten whole minutes and two more repetitions of the song, but I did finish putting myself together.  I put my red lipstick down, then looked into the mirror.  I didn't recognize the face I saw in it.  There was black eyeliner edging my lids, making my bug eyes pop even more, and the lashes were heavily fringed with mascara.  I hadn't put on a lot of rouge, just enough to take the sallowness out of my complexion. As for my hair, I had already taken care of that; it was straightened and sleek, the loose, glossy tresses falling down my back.  I never took this much care with my makeup, and I never wore this much in general.  But tonight, I had to make exceptions.

I knew what my parents would say if they saw me like this.  They'd say I looked like my mother's cousin, probably the most wayward member of her upstanding Roman Catholic family.  I had never been around her much, but according to everyone, she and I looked a great deal alike except she was blond, and still trying to rock the 1980's Sheena Easton look in 2017.  And that concerned my parents, who feared my actions might resemble hers just as our faces resembled each others'.  So I had been raised to consider any comparison to Cousin Roxie to be the greatest criticism imaginable.  I don't know what she did, but it must have been something truly damning.

Still, whatever unforgivable sin my cousin had committed, it couldn't have been any worse than this.

There was a look in my eyes I had seen before in other people, but never on my own face.  It was more than unhappiness- it was hopelessness.  Tonight I was a hopeless, unhappy prostitute.  _I hope I at least make_ him _happy.  Oh, how low I've sunk in a week and a half.  What I'd give for my old backbone._

This was not the attitude I could have if I was to let Freddie enjoyably seduce me.  I got up and walked  downstairs to the fridge, where he kept the chilled vodka.I needed a little something to relax my extremely raw nerves. _  
_

In other words, I intended to get very drunk. _  
_

I'm such a lightweight.  After one double shot, I was tipsy; after two, I was laughing at the way someone kept leaning the room on me, and I couldn't walk in a straight line.  But I felt much less apprehensive.  And that was good enough.

I was pulling the food out of the oven and trying to control my hiccups when the front door knob rattled, and clicked open.  Home so soon, Freddie?  It was only nine-thirty!

_Too early, honey pie_ , I slurred to myself.  _We're not ready.  Come back in half an hour and there will be candles and sexy music and I'll be in that nightgown you like so much.  
_

The door shut.  Freddie didn't say anything, and I heard no footsteps coming further into the flat.  That gave me time to adjust my actions, in case I was doing something that might possibly be a turn-off for him.  Oscar bounded into the kitchen and stared at me.  If he was trying to tell me something, the message was lost in transit- and anyway, I'd find out what he meant soon enough.

Freddie likely was still angry with me from last night, but that was a chance I'd have to take.  My eyelids drooped aloofly.  Despite the fact I couldn't stand up straight without holding onto the counter, or that my stomach still felt like a bubbling witch's cauldron, I would be as offhand, and as emotionally untouchable, as he.  No tears.  If one cried, it gave the other control. 

I had to get out of my jeans.  Since he seemed to still be in the front room by the door, I made to sneak back up the stairs and slip into, as they used to say in the old films, "something a bit more comfortable."  I crept as delicately as I could, bouncing unsteadily on the balls of my bare feet.  

But then a very cold, very dead, voice stopped me in my tracks.  

"Sit down."

Instinctively I turned, my heart sinking.  Freddie was standing there, both hands behind his back.  The lights weren't on overhead, so the shadows hid his face.  He swayed gently back and forth, like I did.

"I'll be right back," I muttered.  I took one step towards the stairs.

"Sit down _now_."  His voice rose a bit.

Which I ignored.  "One second," I whispered, darting a few feet.

CRAASHHH!

I whirled, the blood pounding in my head.  One of the large vases that had lined the shelves now lay in shards upon the floor.  Freddie's hand was clenched into a tight, deadly fist.  

He offered one final warning.  "I'm not asking you again, Julia."

_JULIA?  
_

_He knows my name?!  But how-?_

And then his other hand moved into view, and I saw what he held in it- and I realized tonight would end very differently from what I had expected.  My hardback journal, with all its analysis and opinion, good, bad, and ugly, rested in his left hand.  

Oh, no.

He didn't just know my name.  Freddie knew everything.  

_He's going to kill me.  I'm dead.  He hates me and I'm dead.  I'm dead where I stand.  So dead.  DEAD.  
_

But now, I was docile.  Like a lamb being led to the slaughter, I came back into the parlor and seated myself on the sofa against the wall.  

"I made dinner," I whispered pointlessly. 

Freddie didn't answer.  He lifted his free hand and switched on the lights.  Now I could see his face.  His features were stony, his eyes shards of black ice that chilled my blood.  Slowly he stalked my way, moving like a panther ready to pounce at any second- but there was an unsteadiness about him, and I realized he, too, was drunk.  He opened the journal up to a random page, held it out in front of him.  

"You know, I had forgotten, just how much you can learn from a book."  His voice was quietly menacing.  "There's so much to be taken in from a single word, one sentence.  The words don't lie, they just stare you in the eyes and say themselves."

I opened my mouth.  "Fre-"

"I did not give you permission to speak."  His voice was double-edged, the blade of his tongue sliding dangerously across my throat.  I shivered and fell silent.

Freddie moved closer.  "As I was saying, it's really enlightening, what can jump out at you from a page."  He held up the journal.  "Take this book, for instance."

He paused, let me stew in the suspense.  I felt my sanity slip further and further away as the silence continued.  I shut my eyes.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Julia." _  
_

My eyes opened up again. ___WHY DOESN'T HE JUST KILL ME AND GET IT OVER WITH? STOP DRAGGING IT OUT! JUST DO IT!___

"Take this thing," he went on _.  "_ Why, I never expected to learn so much about myself.  Just take any line in here, and there's just so much.  Like here, this one part, where is it- ah!"He flipped through the pages and found whatever the part was.  And he read it to me. _  
_

_"Complete logic free zone, says things that make absolutely no sense whatsoever and somehow gets away with it._ Yes, very nice, good to know I'm so incoherent.Oh, what else, what else?"  He flipped to another page discussing the towel fiasco.  "There it is. _It's odd, considering what she -_ Mary, that is _\- put up with him doing all his life, that she should be so moved by this._ So what exactly does that mean?What is the torture I burden poor Mary with? And how would you know about the rest of my life anyway _,_ when you didn't even know who I was in the first place? _"_

I didn't answer _.  
_

"You've known who I was all this time, haven't you?" _  
_

I bit my lip and lowered my chin. _  
_

He took hold of my face and jerked me back up.  _"Haven't you?"  
_

_"Yes,"_ I squeaked, my voice trembling.  "Yes, I have. _"_

Freddie blinked.  "So you lied to me." _  
_

"I'm sorry," I whispered.  "I-"

"My dear, it's a little late for 'I'm sorry' at this stage, don't you think?"

"But I am!  I didn't like having to lie, I didn't have a choice, please, I'm sorry."

But Freddie was not in a forgiving mood.  He closed the journal and threw it on the coffee table.  "Pray tell, my dear, where do the lies end and the truths start _?"_

This coming from a man who pretended for a living- a man who basically lived a lie until the lie caught up with him.  I felt myself bristle, and my voice hardened, "Hey, hey, that is not a fair question-"

"Seems to me the only honesty I've seen out of you works its way into the pages of this diary thing.  And you are, indeed, shall we say, brutally honest, whether it comes to the - what was it you called Paul?  Let me see, I can't rem- oh, yes, the Pudding-Faced Antichrist, wasn't that it?  Tart.  Quite tart.  And  what did you mean, he'll be my doom?  Or is that you just making your marvelous little assumptions again?" _  
_

He was tearing me apart inside, and he'd only just begun.  I rose to my feet, my hands clasped almost pleadingly.  "Freddie, please, that was the first week, I had so much to lea-" _  
_

Freddie seized my elbows and whispered, "Did I say you could stand up?"

My throat tightening, I shook my head.

"Then F---ING SIT DOWN, BITCH!" he yelled in my face.

My knees turned into gelatin, and I fell back against the sofa.  Freddie was being such a beast, it made me sick to my stomach.  Vodka overload was no excuse for this.  He was just being mean to be mean.  Was this vicious creature his true self- the monster left over when all other facades and manipulative characters were brushed aside?  _Don't cry.  Whatever you do, don't cry._

His voice leveled once more.  "But you were certainly your most honest about me.  And in some ways, yes, you hit the nail on the head.  Moral centers do bore me, as do you.  Every time you open your mouth I want to scream, you're so dull.  How I managed to put up with your ridiculous American-ness for this long, I'll never know."

I began to visibly shudder.  His voice was so cool, like steel.

"But my favorite line, in this whole f---ing thing, has to be the last.  Short and sweet, to the point.  Ties everything together so nicely."  he cleared his throat and recited the last ten words I had scrawled in the notebook.  " _What a waste of time, what a waste of life_.  So perfect.  I think I'll have them put that on my headstone."

I went even whiter. The words flew, my voice shaking, "Freddie, I wasn't talking about you, I swear to God, I wrote that in the wrong place, I meant myself, I was talking about myself!  Please! I-"

"Oh, speaking of yourself," Freddie continued, willfully deaf to my apologies, "as much as I leaned about me, I think I learned much more about you than you might have wanted anyone to learn.  As much as you despise my soul, you can't seem to get enough of my body."

"Oh, shut up," I snapped.  "I don't-"

"You just can't help yourself, can you?  First impulse, always always, is to lie.  But there's the proof in black and white.  You want me.  You want me like mad.  Some of those entries, God, the page is practically dripping wet-"

"SHUT UP!" I screamed.

"Admit it, darling, I want to hear you say it.  Say you want me.  It's so much easier if you just admit it."

"GO TO HELL!"

"First you answer me, bitch.  Do you want me?"

I turned away, the tears more imminent than ever.  Suddenly he yanked me to my feet, forced me to look into his cold, cold eyes.  And he hissed, " _Answer me_."

And against my will, the words puffed softly from my lips.  "Yes... Yes, I want you, you bastard."

Freddie let go of me, and shrugged aloofly.  "Well, of course you do, dear.  What else is new?"

That did it.  Despite the fact that I had been planning all day to give myself up to him, there was no way I was going to follow through now.  That would be far too easy a victory for him.  My face froze, like his.  I walked away from Freddie, forcing my back to straighten and my shoulders to square.  My backpack was sitting on the floor near the front door; I headed for it.

"Where are you going?" he called indolently, but I didn't answer.  I was perfectly silent, hoisting the bag up onto my shoulder.  My old flats were in my room, I'd have to traipse up the stairs to get them.  I didn't know where I would go from here, but I didn't mind exactly where as long as it was nowhere near "here."

When I reappeared to walk down the stairs, the corners of his mouth twitched.  "Leaving so soon?"

Again, I said nothing.  After a few seconds, he walked toward the bottle of vodka I had left on the coffee table, and spoke again with a chuckle under his words.  "You'll be back."

I bit my lip, and swore to myself I would never set foot in his flat ever again.  My hand was on the knob.

He took a swig straight from the bottle.  "Where's your Passport, Julia?"

My skin prickled.  Oh, Good God.  

On instinct I swung my bag back off my shoulder and peered into the three main flaps.  My forged United States Passport wasn't there.  

Out of my peripheral I saw Freddie march toward the stairs.  I dropped everything and sped to the second floor.  He too broke into a run.  I broke all records getting up those stairs, literally jumping three steps at a time, nearly tripping over my own feet but catching myself just before I toppled.  I burst into the green room, saw the Passport there on the nightstand.  I put out my hand, my fingers barely grazing the leather bound document when another larger hand slid in just a hair faster and slammed down over it.

"Sorry, dear," he murmured, clenching the Passport in his fist.  "I'm afraid it's just not that easy."

My fists clenched, on the inside screaming and raging against the futility of all this.  "I hate you."

Freddie almost reacted to that; I saw his eyes widen the tiniest bit, but then he froze over again.  "You do not.  You can't feel hate.  You can't feel at all.  You just think.  And assume.  And analyze.  Your heart pumps cold blood, there's no love or hate to warm it."

"Please, just let me have the Passport, and you'll never see me again-"

"I don't think you understand.  You belong to me, Julia.  I own you.  All this time, ever since the first night, you've been in my debt.  There's nothing I can't make you do for me.  No, more than that.  There's nothing I can't have _anyone_ do for me.  And you're no different.  There's nothing special about you.  You're just like anyone else, except you're colder- and more beautiful.  Such a waste."

His words continued to vivisect my heart into even smaller pieces.  I managed, "Fine!  Fine!  I'll pay you, I still have a little money I won in Vegas, you can have it all-"

"Darling, do I look like I want your pocket change?"

I heard myself ask this question, and immediately wanted to jump off a ledge, because I already knew the answer.  "Then what do you want?"

"I crave the very thing you crave," he whispered.  His finger traced the curve of my face.  "A nice, long, serious f---."

I took a step back, shaking my head.  "There's no w-"

"It's what you want too, don't try and say otherwise," he hissed.  "I'll please you, you might please me, and you will be free to go.  Is that so awful?"

"Oh, God, I hate you," I said again.  "You're a monster and I hate you!"

Again, that made a chink in his armor.  But he kept talking.  "Darling, we're wasting the night, if we're going to f---, let's begin.  All you need is a lesson, and the right teacher.  Step One: Arouse."

Before I could pull away, Freddie seized both my hands.  "You want to see me aroused," he hissed, "so arouse me."

Freddie put my hands on him then.  He let out a muffled groan, and my insides entangled themselves.  I tried to jerk my hands away but he was too strong.  He backed himself up against the bedroom wall, drawing me over with him.  And then, he started to move my hands up and down.

"Spread your palms out a litt- ohhh, yes," he sighed.  "Like that..."

I could feel the difference already.  My eyes were squeezed shut, my teeth clamped down on my bottom lip.  And the sickest part was, I didn't know how to feel.  I should have been repulsed, I should have screamed and with the aid of an adrenaline rush come up swinging and gouged out his eyes and maybe even knocked out one of those extra teeth- but I wasn't repulsed.  Even worse, the longer he stood there making me stroke him, the more I... liked it.  

Freddie moaned in a voice that appealed to me more than it should have, "My dear... you do learn so... so very quickly..."

I opened my eyes and looked down.  He wasn't holding my hands there any more, and the most triumphant look was in his eyes.  No doubt now that he was aroused.  At once I drew away, breathing hard.  

"Oh, dear, now you've done it," he whispered rather heavily.  "And a good job of it too.  Very nice, I didn't even tell you to knead your ha-"

I covered my ears and screamed, tried to dart out of the bedroom, but again, he was too fast.  He yanked me back toward him before I went any distance at all.

"Not yet," he hissed.  "You got me like this, you have to fix it now."

I watched in horror as his smooth, deft hands undid the button of his now quite strained-looking jeans.  There it was.  And I wanted to be sick.  But you would never have known it from the way I breathed, "Oh, my God..."  

"See, you really are no different," he whispered.  "On your knees, please."

My face turned green.  "I will do no such thing!" I shouted with one last flare of willpower, and it might have been more effective had I not ended the sentence with the absolute worst thing possible.

I licked my lips.  I didn't mean to.  I swear.  But I did.

And Freddie saw it.  "What are you waiting for?" he growled.  "You're only torturing yourself, you know.  Go to it."

I looked up into his eyes, and said flatly, "No."

"Get on your knees right now or I will find someone who will!" he snarled.  Some of the chill had left his voice, and replaced with a touch of unbridled insanity.

"Aw gee, that will be my loss, then, bye bye," I whispered, then turned on my heel.

And Freddie lost it.

He grabbed me by my hair and pulled my head back so fast had he been any more emphatic he could have snapped my neck.  I fell to the floor, then Freddie pulled me back up in such a way that now I was kneeling and he held my head right next to it.  I shut my eyes and covered my mouth.

"Do it!" he ordered.  "DO IT!"

And all I could shout was "No!  NO! NOOOO!"  

Now Freddie was screaming, every ounce of cool and composure gone with the wind.  "Jesus!  Why are you so f---ing surprised?  I'm a monster!  That's what you think I am!  Don't you?   You think I'm a monster?  You won't accept anything less than that, and I dare not disappoint you.  It's a monster you want, then a monster I'll be.  Are you happy now?  _Does this support your f---ing hypothesis?!?!?!_ "

"Freddie, please," I gasped through my hand.  Tears were streaming down my face, making tracks of black eyeliner across my cheeks.  I didn't want to cry, but I couldn't contain it anymore.  "Please... I'm sorry... for everything I ever said, or did, or wrote, or dared to think within my own f---ing head, just please... let me go..."

"Not until you-" Freddie's voice halted, and seemed to catch.  A new shiver vibrated under his words as he went on, "First you- pay me back.  F--- it, stop crying."

I didn't reply, instead just knelt there and drowned in my own sobs.  

"Stop crying!"  His voice thickened, and his hands began to shake.  But still he managed to shout, "S-STOP IT!"

And then something happened inside of me.  I don't know what, for a moment maybe I too just snapped, and the cool, refreshing caress of sheer madness washed over my shell-shocked mind.  I opened my eyes, looked up into the dark ones glaring above me.  My fists clenched.

I felt my knees lift me back onto my feet.  With a loud, unhinged roar, I rose up at him and hit him with everything I had.  Twice.  Once for each sharp cheekbone.  I don't know why I didn't take the easy blow- I mean, it was right there- but I didn't.  I slapped him so hard I sprained the ring finger on my left hand, and he was thrust off balance.  Down he went, landing in a rather compromising position, but I didn't have it in me to laugh.  I just wanted out- and away from him.

"YOU MONSTER!" I screamed one last time, then ran down the stairs, grabbing my backpack and flying out the front door, ignoring the last thing I heard Freddie raggedly shout before the door closed.  

" _Julia, wai_ -"

Click-clack.

And then all I could hear was the drum of a heavy downpour tapping against the sidewalks and on top of my head, the splash of my already waterlogged flats slapping furiously through the puddles- and the crash of what was left of my heart shattering into a million million fragments.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal here.
> 
> Take a deep breath, that's as rough as this story gets. Just stay with me. There's a plan. Just hold on. ;)


	56. The Syntax of Things

Some people like the rain.  They find it soothing, peaceful, perhaps even inspirational.  Power to them. Rain's good for the ground, and it's good for the air, and it's good for the fish.  Perhaps it is.  But rain always comes at the behest of clouds, which hide the sun and darken a sky that looks much better in blue than gray.  Clouds are lonely things, and since misery loves company, clouds love to make the people trapped underneath them feel sad and lonely as well.  It's not the most convenient set-up.  To me, if it's going to take up so much room, the sky ought to be bright at least half the time.  

Not that the night I was splashing through was bright; the only lights were the lit lamp posts, shining blearily through the sheets of water.  My backpack and I were soaked, the gentle breeze blowing the rain into my face, the glowing red tracker thumping softly against my chest with every step.  I hated the rain.  I wasn't refreshed, I wasn't soothed.  I was just plowing through a bigger, colder version of the tears still falling from my eyes.  

And a huge part of me still couldn't understand why I was weeping so bitterly- or why my heart was so broken.  Freddie was a snake.  A beast.  An odious, nasty man who needed professional help.  I had apologized sincerely, from the very bottom of my heart, and he kicked my words aside.  

How had I let such a callous creature hurt me so horribly?  What had I ever found so fascinating about him?  Freddie was talented- so what?  He had a beautiful voice and a beautiful face- big deal.  And he was terribly mysterious- whoopee doo.  But these qualities did not a worthy obsession make.  Damn that natural charisma, that strange allure he had which charmed so many without them even knowing _why_ they were charmed.

Seven years I'd admired him, studied him, aware of his torments and faults but untouched by them.  Ten wonderful days, all relatively balanced as far as good and bad experiences went, suddenly paled before this one night of Freddie's utter self-exposure- literally.  After eleven days, I knew too much, was in too deep.  I had come too close to the fire and was running away charred and permanently scarred, pining for the days when I had the luxury to wonder about him, but receive no definite answer.

Ignorance is bliss.

I stopped running a moment and leaned forward against the light on the corner, pressing my forehead against it and seizing it with one hand.  I would have used both, but my ring finger still stung from when I slapped Freddie.  The cold metal felt solid and real against my palm; its concreteness grounded me somewhat.  Not much, but I would take anything.  

There was no place for me here.  I would find a taxi or a bus or something and just go.  Forget plans.  Plans never worked, especially mine.  I'd find out where I was meant to stop once I stopped.  What a wonderful surprise it would be.  Just peachy.

However, I had to get out of the Kensington borough first.  That was my primary goal right now.  The further away from him, the sooner I could get away, the better.

A set of headlights appeared and rounded the corner, moving toward Freddie's flat.  I could tell by the headlight shape that it wasn't Rudy and his Rolls-Royce, and even through the rain the car looked dark-colored, and shaped like a taxi.  Now was my chance.  I ran across the street waving my arms around.  The car slowed and halted by the roadside.

I pulled the backseat door open, and slid in.  "Drive."

The driver turned around and squinted at me.  "Huh?"

"Please, now, go," I murmured in shaky monosyllables.

He lifted a hand and turned on the cabin light.  "Julia, what are you doing?"

My eyes bulged, and my sludgy brain bit by bit registered the situation: _Oh, okay.  I'm not sitting in a taxi, and how does he know my real name, too- and, crap, I'm getting the inside of John Deacon's car all wet.  
_

"Making a fool of myself, that's what," I breathed.  "Sorry."  I reached for the door handle.

"You look dreadful," he remarked.  "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I whispered, on the verge of another crying jag, "everything is fine, I'm okay, I should go-"

"Julia," John said again.  "I- I mean, uh, Eve, sorry, it's Eve, right?"

"Nice try, man, but I know the word is out.  Call me whatever, I just don't care anymore."

John looked me over, and nodded.  "I think I understand.  Do you need time to breathe?"

"No, I just need to get out of here."

"You look like you could use some warm, dry clothes. I can take you by my house, let you stay there till the rain stops-"

"No, John, really, I'm all right-" But I wasn't, which became painfully obvious as his kindness wrapped so nicely around me.  Within its warmth I crumbled once again.  I was a complete emotional wreck; I would have cried at a simple "Hello," my head was such a mess at that point.  _At this rate, Freddie may actually turn me into some crazy Harley Quinn.  All I'm missing is one hundred volts zapping directly into my skull- and the acid bath.  Then again, never say never._

John seemed to mull something a moment, glancing at the passenger seat, then looking back at me.  He sighed, shaking his head.  "You know, I'm just going to assume you're not all right every time you say you are, is that okay?"

I nodded.  "That's probably a good idea."

He turned out the cabin light.  "You're welcome to come up to the front if you want.  Or you can keep pretending I'm a cabbie and order me about from back there."

"I'll stay back here."

"Then you have to tell me where to go."  He plucked something out of the front seat and stuffed it into the glove compartment.

"I do?"

"Cab driver's rules."

"Okay."  I took a deep breath. "To your place, if you please."

"Bother, I was hoping you'd tell me to 'Follow that car'."

I smiled.  "Maybe next time."

John's car almost hydroplaned as he made a u-turn.  When we passed Freddie's townhouse, I found myself watching the lit windows for his silhouette.  I kept staring behind me until we rounded the corner again.  But his door didn't open, and he didn't come out and watch us go.  The street was silent and empty.

I sat back and rubbed my smeary face, then, ignoring the black streaks of eyeliner that came off onto my hands.  Freddie wasn't the kind to run dramatically after cars anyway, and there was no reason in the world for him to start with me.

But he could have at least had the decency to let me see him one more time. _  
_

************************************************************************************

It was still coming down buckets when John and I stumbled into his south London home.  A woman with long, straight brown hair, whom I assumed to be John's wife Veronica, opened the door to let us in.  

"Hello, darling, was he glad to have it ba-" she began to say to John, when her eyes fell upon me.  Instead of eyeing me suspiciously, she smiled and put out her hand.

"Oh, it's you again!" she said cheerily.  "Hello!"

"Me again?" I repeated.  "Have we met?"

"Well, not exactly, but I saw you," she explained.  "Freddie's girl, right?  Why, you're positively drenched.  What happened to you?"

"I'm not Freddie's girl," I whispered shakily, emotions rising again. Veronica looked at her husband.

"This is Julia," John said. "And she's had a rather bad time."

"So I see," Veronica murmured.  She took my hand then and led me down the hall.  "I'm Veronica.  Come on, you poor thing, take those clothes off, we'll dry them out, in the meantime I've got a dressing gown that should fit you all right."

"Thank you," I replied numbly.  "I'd like that."

Veronica took me into the master bedroom and laid a finger against her lips.  "Just to let you know, Robert's- that's our little boy, you know- he's asleep, and he's across the hall, so-"

"I'll be quieter than a mouse," I nodded.  "How old is he?"

"Nearly two years," she answered, closing the door.  

"I'm sure he's darling."

"A handful sometimes, but never too much of one.  He's a love."

"You guys must be wonderful parents."

"We try."  Veronica had nice dimples when she smiled.

After that, both of us ladies were silent as she helped me out of my cold, soaked clothes and handed me her robe to put on.

"What were you doing out in the rain at ten o'clock anyway?" she asked softly.

I tied the belt of the robe.  "I don't know."

"Mm," she hummed with a nod, looking none-too-convinced, but she didn't press.  

"I'm really sorry about this," I managed, feeling my throat tighten up again.  "As soon as my clothes are dry, I'll go."

"At least stay till the rain stops," she said, smiling.  "It'll save you a trip back here."

"Thank you," I breathed.  "You guys... you and John are so nice... Thank you so much..."

Veronica could see I was about to break down again, so she rushed over to the nightstand and plucked a handkerchief out of the drawer.  She put it in my hands and said, very quietly, "If you need to talk about it, whatever it is, you're in a safe place.  All right?"

I bit my lip.  "I don't want to bother you with-"

"Hush, hush.  This is about Freddie.  I can already tell.  And I want you to know, you can talk here.  We don't blab.  Secrets are safe with us."

I stared at her, uncertain if the Deacons were not in fact angels on Earth.  "Can I give you a hug, please?"

She laughed and nodded, let me throw my arms around her neck.  John knocked on the door of the bedroom, saying, "You girls decent in there?"

"Yes, we're coming out," she said, and opened the door.  "Come on, let's talk.  Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, yes," I whispered.  "Vodka if you have it, please.  I just need to go wash my face, one second."

I barely knew John and Veronica at that time, but from that moment on, these two people became the best friends I've ever had.  Looking back now, I believe they saved me from making a terrible decision, because when John found me, I was a step away from throwing myself into the Thames, never to resurface again.  I love them.  And I hope they love me, because I personally don't know what I would do without them today.

Once I'd washed away the black smears under my eyes, and my face looked like my face again, I came back out to sit with my first real friends.  Not acquaintances, like the rest of the world, and not friends-plus-sexual attraction, like Freddie used to be; but real friends.  It was wonderful.

We talked in the parlor for about an hour and a half.  I didn't go into too much detail about Freddie and me, but I gave them the general idea- that I had had a pretty serious fight with him and a sprained finger to prove it.  It surprised me how easy it was to talk to them so personally so soon.  I guess we just clicked- or maybe I was just in desperate need like five days before, and I was much more openhearted than I would have been under more comfortable circumstances.  God works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?  

At almost midnight, Veronica rose and stretched.  "I'm turning in, darling," she murmured to John, kissing the top of his head.  "You've got a busy day tomorrow, too."

"I'm right behind you, love," John said, "Just one more drop."

She nodded, then walked over to me and gave me another little hug.  "You don't mind camping out here on the sofa, do you?"

"Of course not," I smiled.  "The rain's let up a lot, I'll probably be out of here before morning anyway." 

"You're welcome to stay."

"Thank you, but I have to be going pretty soon.  You've been so kind to me tonight, and I thank you."

"Don't worry, dear," she said.  "It'll all make sense before long, even if it doesn't right now."

With that she traipsed down the hall toward the bedroom, leaving John and myself alone.

I swallowed the last few drops of my vodka, the loneliness setting in once more.   John poured himself another nip of gin, watched me from the liquor cabinet.  

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm better," I sighed.  "It's just... tonight, I... Freddie... I don't know."

"Do you think you'll go back to him?"

"Why?"

"No reason.  I have a hunch that he's begun to worry though."

"Worry?" I scoffed.  "About what?"

"You.  It's been about two hours, he's probably started looking for you-"

"As if he cares!" I snarled, passions renewed.  "This time of night, in this weather?  Searching for me?  Forget about it.  He might get his feet wet.  If anything he probably went and pleasured himself with his latest boytoy, whatever.  He has others do his dirty work anyway- and this doesn't even qualify as worth the effort."

John just looked at me, blinking in surprise.  "You really think that?"

"John, this is not my imagination.  He said so.  He's found me out, knows what I wrote about him in the first week I was here, and now that he's seen my would-be true colors, he showed me his."  I rubbed my eyes, my voice quivering.  "He hates me, John.  He- he _hates_ me."

"Uh-uh.  No more tears, you've filled your quota for the night," he said almost playfully.  The tone reminded me of Freddie, which only made it worse.  I covered my mouth, my brows knitting again.  

John walked over to me, then, and in his normal voice whispered, "Julia, please, don't cry."

"Oh, John," I gasped, a single tear sliding down my cheek.  "I just want to go home.  That's all.  I- If only- that Relic!  If only I hadn't lost that stupid Relic, I would have been home days ago.  I never meant to screw around with you and the band.  I never meant to get in the way, I never meant to come here at all."

"Where were you supposed to go?" John asked.  "Just out of curiosity."

"I was-" I laughed mirthlessly.  "I was supposed to interview Saul Alinsky."

"Who?"

"He was a professional agitator- sort of a community organizer."

"A what?"

"Exactly."  I laughed again, and this time John joined me.  "Oh, I'd give anything to be home right now... I would miss you, I know, but I'd be home and out of the rabbit hole."

"Well," John sighed, suddenly looking a little nervous, "there's- there's always - oh, bollocks, I'm no good at this stuff.  Just don't give up, okay?  There's more of a chance than you realize.  Keep your head up.  And things like that."

I half-smiled.  "You're right, you are no good at this stuff," I quipped, "but it helps.  A lot.  You have no idea how much."

John patted my hand with a slight grin on his lips.  "I'm off to bed now.  If I don't see you tomorrow morning, good night, and good luck."

"Thanks, Deacy," I whispered.  "Oh, wait, one more thing."

He cocked his head and waited.

"Where's the nearest abbey?"

"Westminster, of course."

"That's too close.  Let me rephrase that.  Where's the _furthest_ abbey, or convent, or whatever?"

"Why?  You plan to join the sisterhood?"

"It's an idea," I whispered.  "That's one place where I know he won't go, ever."

He sort of chuckled.  "You make him sound like a vampire."

"Oh, that reminds me, if you've got any crucifixes or garlic to spare, I'll take them- and some wolfsbane, just in case," I added, half-kidding.

John rolled his eyes.  "Julia, Julia.  If you knew what I knew..."

"What?"

"Nothing.  You probably wouldn't believe it anyway."

"You don't know."

John ignored the rebuttal.  "There's an abbey in Bath."

"Where's that?"

"Two hours west of London.  By Somerset."

"Do nuns live in abbeys?"

"That's something you'd have to ask Veronica, I don't think so though."

"I can start there," I murmured to myself.  "I have to start somewhere, that's a good place."

Draining his glass, John said through a grimace, "Julia, do you even know what you're running from?"

I frowned.  "Of course I do."  

"What, then?"

I nodded my head in a nonspecific direction.  "Him."

"But you said he wouldn't follow you- said he wouldn't bother.  Why run from him unless you think he will?"

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't answer him.  It didn't make any sense to me, either.  I didn't make any sense even to myself, that's how mixed up I felt.  Suffering from my own personal melancholy blues and a spinning head.  Not a good combination.

John yawned.  "Anyway, sleep well- but if you do bolt, please lock the door behind you.  And good luck either way."

With that he waved, and disappeared down the hall to join his wife.

The house was quiet, and the parlor felt a little empty now that I was the only one left sitting in it.  My clothes were likely dry by now, but I didn't immediately get up to check.  I sat there a moment, just thinking to myself.  It was cozy, just lounging there in a comfy chair, wrapped in a dressing gown.  I just needed to get out of London, get away from Freddie, and all my problems would be solved.  I likely had enough money to get me to Bath, or Somerset, or wherever the abbey was, and nuns didn't do the whole worldly possessions thing anyway, so I was halfway there already.  I just needed order in my life, routine, a purpose.  My life needed meaning.  My now rambling book of Life needed syntax.  Badly.

The word "syntax" brought to mind a poem I hadn't thought about since high school.  It was written by e. e. cummings, one of my favorite poets.  Though much of his poetry was chiefly visual in its form, this poem now flowing through my mind was one of the few that you could read aloud and still receive the message- a message which hit me differently that night than it ever had before.  I said it aloud, savoring every syllable:  
  
 _since feeling is first_

_who pays any attention_

_to the syntax of things_

_will never wholly kiss you;_

_wholly to be a fool_

_while Spring is in the world_

_my blood approves_

_and kisses are a better fate_

_than wisdom_

_lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry_

_-the best gesture of my brain is less than_

_your eyelids' flutter which says_

_we are for each other: then_

_laugh, leaning back in my arms_

_for life's not a paragraph_

_and death i think is no parenthesis_

I loved those last two lines, so I said them again: "Life's not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis."  

My mind wandered, waxing analytical as it often did when it was exhausted.  No, life wasn't a paragraph.  Paragraphs needed syntax, order, and consistence.  They had to follow certain forms, maintain a predictable flow, to be considered true paragraphs.  Each paragraph, in proper writing, held a single concept, a specific main idea.  But there was little to nothing predictable or specific about life.  Or about Freddie.

I scoffed.  _God!  Why does everything have to come back to him?  He's a non-issue!  I shall never see him again, I've decided.  He's bad for my health, physical and mental- and don't even get me started about emotional._

The rain had just about evaporated outside.  I leaned back against the chair, deciding on a short little catnap before I grabbed my clothes and started running again.  My eyes closed.

_Who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you....  
_

My eyes opened again, because that line had for some reason resurrected thoughts of the non-issue.  Thoughts of Freddie.  I saw his dark eyes behind my lids, gleaming like diamonds- but not with anger, not with that evil chill.  The eyes were gentle, and kind.  And he was smiling that dear smile, the sort that made my heart sing whenever I looked upon it. _  
_

_If only that's who he really was- but that isn't!  That was a dream, a fake persona.  I know who he is.  He showed himself tonight.  He doesn't care.  He isn't kind.  He's selfish and cold.  And lustful.  Mary, you can keep him.  List of given lovers, there'll be no quarreling on my part.  He's your pet.  Have him.  Be my frickin' guest.  
_

Again, my eyes closed.  I tried to send myself to sleep.  

_...And kisses are a better fate than wisdom..._

Suddenly the room stopped being cozy.  I shivered, a cool, clammy feeling crawling up my spine.  I tried snuggling up in the chair, but I only seemed to grow colder.  Veronica's robe wasn't light, either- it was a nice, terry cloth dressing gown, the kind you curl up in with a cup of hot chocolate and fuzzy socks while you watch the snow blow around outside your window.  But I was freezing.  I wrapped my arms around my middle, nuzzled my face into the cushions.

"Hold me, my prince," I whispered.

_What?_

I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes bugging, heart pounding.  But the words were there.  Out in the open.  I had uttered them, I couldn't put them back in my mouth and swallow them down.  

I had been away from his world for barely two hours, and already I was longing for him.  More than that.  I didn't just want Freddie.  I didn't just long for that sadistic, black-eyed panther.  

I needed him.  And badly.

I would have screamed, but Robert was sleeping.  So I screamed inside my head: _I WILL NOT FEEL LIKE THIS!  NOT FOR HIM!  I WILL NOT!  I DO NOT NEED HIM, HE DOESN'T NEED ME SO WHY THE F--- SHOULD I NEED HIM?  
_

I looked down at my left hand, saw the gleaming rose gold ring.  My eyes narrowed.  I clenched the ring in my other hand and tried to yank it off my finger.  But since it was sprained, slight swelling had surrounded the band, and I couldn't take it off without being in a hellish amount of pain.  At least until my finger healed, his ring was stuck on my hand.

Enough was enough.  I leapt off the comfy chair, made for where they had put my clothes.  Thankfully, my shirt and jeans were dry- and I could live with wet soles.  The rain had calmed down by now, reduced to a slight drizzle.  That was tolerable.  Picking up my backpack, I slung it over my shoulder and walked out of John's house, remembering to lock the door behind me.  

In our conversation earlier, John had mentioned something about a Tube station a few streets down.  I headed towards it.  I would take the Tube to the heart of London, and from there, find a nice bus that would transport me to Bath-or Somerset.  One of those places.  Solsbury Hill was out that way, maybe I'd stop there and find out if I, too, could see the city light, before joining the sisterhood.  It would be a quiet life with lots and lots of routine- but that was okay.  I'd had enough of walking on the wild side to last me forever.

It was too quiet at the moment, though.  I pulled out my Android and plugged my ear buds in.  "Solsbury Hill" began to play into my right ear.  

I saw a sign mentioning the direction of the Tube, alerting me that I was going the right way.  I started walking down the street, hands in my pockets. 

Behind me I heard the squeal of tire treads on wet cobblestone.  Instinctively I turned to see a car streak down the road where John lived, then as soon as it disappeared the driver slammed on the brakes, making another loud, painful squeak.

I snorted, glad to be distracted.  "Drive much?" I murmured, then continued down the sidewalk with Peter Gabriel's much-needed optimism playing to the rhythm of my stride.

 

 


	57. Birdman's Eye View: Lovebirds and Lovecats

As I bid good night to Julia, I try to be just a little more detached than I really would prefer to be.  I don't want her to know I see how fragile she looks.  Her arms are folded tightly across her chest while she perches on the comfy chair, a weak smile on her lips.  The poor girl's so wan, and her eyes are brimming with unhappiness.

Granted, Julia's in much better condition than she was two hours ago, but that wouldn't be a hard transition.  Two hours ago she was disintegrating.  At least she's holding herself together better.  Though it's their private matter, I wonder what happened.  I can't ask, though.  That's too much information, and I know more than enough already anyhow.  But one thing is sure: Miss Samuels is hurting inside- and being the sort of girl who has had the luxury of never having really been hurt before, there's no telling what shape her heart is in. 

Veronica is under the covers, waiting for me.  I undress for bed, then slip in beside her.

"She'll be all right," I whisper confidently. 

"Did you give her the phone-thing?" she asks.  "The Relic?"

"Not yet.  I was going to let Freddie do the honors."  I turn out the lamp and settle in, putting my arms around my wife.  "He smashed it, he can return it."

"You're a very nice man," she murmurs with a smile.

I walk my fingers up her bare arm and growl against her neck, "Sometimes..."

With a little giggle she turns over and reaches for me.  Veronica doesn't have to do much to arouse me- and I never have to work too hard to get her in the mood.  It's always been this way, and I love it.  More specifically, I love _her_.

That's the thing about touring.  In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not Freddie. That man was born on the stage. He lives to perform, and performs to live. And I can understand, to a degree.  The rush of attention, the heat of the spotlights, the power of the applause- it's all very nice, and thrilling while it lasts.  But more than the others, I see Queen as a job- and tours are basically business trips, except they last over two months at a time- and there's a lot more glitter and alcohol.  Tours also mean I'm too far away from her, and they always seem to come around too quickly, so I savor every moment my wife and I are together. 

To have someone you care that much about- it's a true gift.

We are just finishing making love when I hear the front door open and close.

"There she goes," I murmur, still a little breathless.

"Mmmm..." my wife sighs.  "Wonder where..."

"She's going to be a nun," I say softly.  "At least, that's my understanding."

Veronica frowns.  "She told you that?"

"She said she was going to go to Bath, there's an abbey there.  I dunno, do nuns live in abbeys?"

"Not anymore, I don't think.  Perhaps.  What's she want to be a nun for?"

I shrug, running my hand along the curve of her body.  "People will do crazy things to feel safe."

"But what about the Relic?"

"What about it?"

"Well, you could have given it to her, and then she wouldn't feel like she had to go be a nun."

"Freddie would have my head if I did that.  I promised him he'd be the one."

That, Veronica understands perfectly.  She knows Freddie well, having been the wife of Queen's bass player for two and a half years- and she's quite acquainted with his temper.

After a moment she says, "I'm still confused, is she his girlfriend or something?"

I have not yet told Veronica that Julia is from the future.  Somehow, I don't see that ever coming up.  For now I simply say, "I dunno.  I really don't."

"Do you think he cares for her?"

"I dunno."

She yawns.  "Yes, but you must have a hunch."

"There's something there.  I just don't know how deep it really goes.  I keep going back to that night at the club.  He seemed to care a lot then.  And this morning..."

"Well, then, you should probably put something on," Veronica says, smiling.

"Why?"

"Because if he does care, he will look for her- and that means he'll pay a call on us."

"It's past midnight," I muse.  "He might, but who knows." 

I'm torn between hoping he does come by, for Julia's sake, and hoping he doesn't, for my own.  I don't mind playing the crying shoulder, but tonight I'd rather not also act as referee.  What's more, I don't want to get out of bed.  I haven't been sleeping so well lately, I'd like to catch up on it tonight.  Freddie's little fury trips last more than a day anyway; most likely it will be a while before he rounds up a search party- assuming that's even what he plans to do. 

Suddenly some maniac speeds wildly past our place; outside my window I can hear that bothersome squawk of wet rubber tires skidding to a stop. I hope he doesn't spin out and bust one of my front windows.  That would be irritating.  Thankfully, all is silent, and there's no shattering sound toward the front.

Speaking of the front, I should probably check and see if Julia locked the door.  She might have forgotten.  So with a half-annoyed grunt I swing myself over the side of the bed and put on my dressing gown. 

"Where are you going?" Veronica asks sleepily.

"Checking the front door.  Be back straight away."

Back down the hall I walk, rubbing my eyes and muttering to myself.  I remember the days when I used to sleep like a baby, no interruptions.  They seem so far away now.

I'm sleepy and a little out of it, so I actually turn the lock the other way, unlocking it.  When I turn the knob for good measure, the door swings open.  Softly cursing my slowness, my head lowered, I start to close the door again when I see the pair of feet standing there on the wet doormat.  Very slowly my gaze drifts up to the person's face to see the unmistakable, gaunt curve of the cheeks, two hooded eyes wide with surprise, and a fist raised as if about to knock.

"Oh," he says, caught off guard.  "Hello."

"Freddie, what are you doing here?" I mumble.  But inside, I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing.  My guess is, he'd been standing there for a minute, trying to decide whether to go ahead and knock. I suppose I chose for him.

"Uh... well, um..." he stutters, lowering his hand.  "Well, I was sort of in the neighborhood, so, um... I thought I'd stop by and, uh... say hello."

"You've said hello," I nod.

"Mm-hm." 

"Would you like to come in?"

"No, no, I just- uh-"

The large man that is his driver rushes up behind Freddie and puts his hand on his shoulder.  "Freddie-"

"GAH!" he shouts, and whirls.  "Rudy!  My God!  Don't do that!"

"Sorry, sorry, but I-"

"It's fine, it's fine, just a moment, okay?"

"But, sir, I s-"

"I told you, stop with the f---ing 'sir' this and 'sir' that."

"I-"

"Could you just go wait in the car?  I'll be right back."

Rudy opens his mouth again, then sighs.  "Yes, Freddie."  And obediently he lumbers back to the Rolls. 

"You're getting all wet, man, you certain you don't want to step in and chat?" I say again.

Freddie mulls this a moment, squints above my head, looking for something, then his face relaxes.  "All right, it is a bit damp out here." 

And he walks in, stepping into the half-light.  I try not to react.  The man is speckled with raindrops, and he seems strung tighter than normal.  He's pale, his face looking unusually taut.  His expression itself, though, is rather blank.  I know what he's here for, it's so obvious, but still I play it cool.  We have Julia to think of, after all.

"Drink?" I say as he shakes off his jacket.

"No thanks," he says. 

"Right.  So what's going on?"

"Nothing.  I'm, uh- oh, well actually, now that you mention it, I think I- oh, also, the Relic, do you have it?"

"Uh, not on me," I say evasively.  "Did you want it now?"

"I can wait, I don't need it right this minute," he murmurs.  "But- I actually think I may have left something here last time I- came by."

"Oh yes?  What was it?"

"Um... my sunglasses, I think," he fumbles.  "After the Heatwave, maybe."

"We didn't stop here, you two went straight home."

"Didn't we?" Freddie asks.

"No."

"Oh.  I just seem to remember being here with my sunglasses at one point, and then not having them."

"They must be very nice sunglasses."

"Sentimentally speaking," he explains.  "They look nice, too."

Freddie stands there, waiting for the offer.  It's becoming so hard for me to stay blase. He actually thinks I might be hiding her!

Finally I ask the magic question.  "Did you want to peek around and-"

"If you wouldn't mind," he sighs.  "I'll only be a moment."

"Be my guest," I reply, giving over the privacy of my humble abode.  Freddie walks down the hall and peers into the rooms he finds there.  When he peeks into Robert's nursery he almost turns on the light, which sends me flying towards him.

"Hey!  The baby's sleeping!  Careful!" I hiss.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he mutters, taking his hand off the light switch.  His eyes fall on Robert's crib, where the little boy is sleeping soundly. 

He looks at me, and I shrug and nod.  Freddie walks further into the nursery, peers over the edge of the crib.  I smile to myself, walking in after him.  Despite wanting to be free and unchained, the wildest in the bunch (a title that he and Roger constantly compete for), he's quite good with kids.  It's a part of himself he doesn't show too often, but he has always been very sweet to Robert. 

"Hm," he hums to himself.  "Do they all sleep like that?"

"What?"

"On their stomachs."

"He does," I say.  "Don't know what other kids do."

Freddie nods, still staring at my son.  "He looks like his mum."

"Thank God," I chuckle.

"F---, John, get some ego," he snickers, then becomes serious again in the next split second.  "He's beautiful.  You're very lucky."

He pats the side of the crib and turns away, walking out.  I wonder what made him say that last bit the way he did.  It almost sounded wistful.  Or maybe I'm just bleary and tired.  Shaking my head, I follow him.

Freddie walks briefly into the kitchen but again comes away unsuccessful in his search for the, ahem, sunglasses.  His shoulders seem to be sagging, though he does tend to hunch anyway and his shoulders aren't exactly broad.  I need to stop reading too much into this, but there's such a lot to take in. 

"I guess I didn't leave them here," he says.  "Sorry for keeping you up."  Freddie strides back into the parlor.  He picks up his jacket to put it on.

"Not at all, I was asleep anyway," I reply clumsily.  "Hope you find them."

"Yeah," he replies.  He's just sliding his arm into the vinyl jacket when his eyes alight on the empty glass by the comfy chair.  Freddie's eyes narrow a little, and he walks towards it.  What's he thinking?

He lifts the glass and looks at it with a sharp, discerning eye, then lifts it to his nose and takes a whiff. 

"Vodka," he whispers.  Freddie looks at me, his eyes suddenly frosty.  "You don't drink vodka."

A look of guilt flashes across my face, for a single breath- but Freddie doesn't miss much.  Certainly not when he's on the hunt.  His eyes narrow even more until they're black, glaring slits full of rage.

"She was here, wasn't she?" he whispers. 

I frown as if I don't understand.  "Who?"

Oh, bad move.

"She.  Was.  Here."  His voice rises.  "She was here- and YOU WEREN'T GO-"

"Quiet!" I hiss.  "Robert!"

So now he's hissing too, and somehow it takes the bite right out of his tone.  "You weren't going to tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"You were just going to let me walk out the door and- How long ago did she get here?"

"I dunno, about ten?"

"When'd she leave?"

"I dunno!"

"You're protecting her!" he snarls.  "F---ing tell me!"

"I seriously don't know, Freddie!  I went to bed and she left on her own time!"

Veronica appears in the hallway, squinting in confusion.  "Sounds like trash-talking tomcats down here."

"Hello, Veronica," Freddie mutters.  "Didn't mean to wake you."

She looks at him, her lips pursed to fight back a smile.  "It's all right.  Just-"

"I know, Robert," he nods. 

"What's all this about, Freddie?" I ask, folding my arms.

"Oh, didn't she tell you?" he scoffs.  "Did she keep it short and shocking, or did she give you the works?"

"Freddie, I genuinely don't know what you're on about," I say.

"The hell you don't.  What kind of demon did she make me out to be?  I'd really love to know.  Do I have horns?  Claws?  Fangs?  Well, actually, that would be the go-to-"

"Freddie, she didn't say anything of the sort, she was -she was scared and mixed up.  Although she did sort of, um-"

"What?"

"She, uh, basically called you a vampire."  Why I tell him this, I have no idea.

"How clever," Freddie snorts, then plops down dramatically on the comfy chair where Julia had been nestling.  He rubs his face.  "God.  What a bitch.  What ill wind blew her my way, I wonder?"

I shrug.  "Well, look on the bright side.  She's gone now."

"Gone?" Freddie looks up.  "Where did she go?"

"What do you care, Freddie?" It's Veronica who's saying this, her voice deceptively casual.  "She's a bitch."

Freddie glares at her.  "I only ask," he explains coldly, "because she has something that belongs to me. And I want it back."

"She stole from you?" I frown.

"Not really, she just- there's something I probably shouldn't have made quite so accessible, and she has it."  He suddenly becomes very quiet, eyes widening.  "But what did you mean, she's 'gone'?"

"She went away.  Very likely for good."

I expect him to shrug, say something like "Good riddance," and dust off his hands while walking to the door, head held high.  But he looks at me like I just sentenced him to ninety-nine years in prison.  His hands clench, and I'm almost nervous.

"You gave it to her, didn't you?" he whispers.

I squint. "Huh?"

"She asked for it and you gave her the thi- the Relic. You did! Didn't you?" His voice is shaking.

"Freddie, what happened tonight?"

"STOP changing the f---ing subject! She's gone, isn't she? You let her go! I-"

"The Relic is in my car, Fred," I interrupt him. "I know exactly what I promised you, I haven't forgotten."  I'm utterly stunned at how he's acting.  It's almost like he...

But Freddie's no fool.  He recovers quickly, and again becomes aloof.  "Ah, that's good.  I'd hate to think she just made off with something of mine, and there's no way I can get it back."  After a moment, he adds, "So where did she go, then?"

"I don't know exactly," I say.

"Do you know roughly?"

I open my mouth, but I don't know how to answer.  If I tell Freddie, I run the risk of betraying Julia.  And if I don't tell Freddie, there's a chance I may not live to see the morning (just kidding- but in all seriousness, there's no telling what shape we'd both be in once the dust cleared).  Either way, I cheese someone off.  Damn it all, I AM a referee!

Fortunately, Freddie's feeling like guessing.  "Wait, don't tell me, she's off to a nunnery, isn't she?"

"Well, uh, yes, actually," I reply.

He rolls his eyes.  "Why am I not surprised.  That _would_ make her happy."

"She wasn't worried about being happy so much as being safe."

"Safe from what?" Freddie asks quietly.  The room goes silent for a few seconds, and then he guesses again, just as accurately.  "Safe from me?"

"She probably didn't mean it like that," I blurt.

"But that's what she said, wasn't it, John?"

"Almost."

"So what did she say?"

"She- she said, uh-"

"I'm not going to go berserk, John, just tell me."

The words stream coolly from my throat, and I don't realize how it sounds until all has been spoken.  "Julia said it was the one place she knew you wouldn't go."

Freddie just sits there, looks down at his lap a moment, hands folded.  His expression is impossible to read.  His mouth twitches, my wife and I just stand there trading uneasy glances, and the silence borders on deafening.

Veronica's the bravest one of all; she breaks it.  "What are you going to do when you find her?"

"When I find her?" Freddie says in a bored voice.  "Whatever would give you the idea I'm even looking for her?"

"You're the one who wants to know where she went.  So you must want to fi-"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Freddie mutters.  "It's what she took from me, I want.  But Julia herself?  If I never see her again, it'll be too soon."

Her lips purse in frustration.  She's tired, as am I, but she has a temper, and when she's sleepy, it's much quicker than normal.  "You mean to tell me you came all the way down here just to wake us up and say how glad you are that she's not coming back?"

Freddie blinks.  "Well, look, uh-"

"It's as simple as this, Freddie," she cuts him off.  "Either you're glad she's gone, and you're more than willing to take your joy and freedom home with you and celebrate there so we can catch a few winks ourselves- or, you want to be a man and actually apologize to her and maybe mend things between you two, perhaps.  Either way, pull your head out of your ass and make a choice!"

I stare at her, jaw slack.  Freddie's quite impressed himself; his eyes are wide, his brows creasing his forehead.  It's a little embarrassing, personally; my wife has more spunk than I do.  She blinks, then realizes what she's just said to him.  She swallows.

"Um, yes, well, I'm just going back to bed now, so, good night, boys," she murmurs, then tiptoes down the hall.  The bedroom door closes behind her.

Freddie blinks again.  "You know, I really like her."

I nod.  "I'm a lucky fellow."

His brows come together again.  "She's right; I should go, there's no reason I should keep you two up any longer."  Freddie pushes off the chair and stands.

"You going home?" It's as subtle a question I can muster that literally means, "Are you still going to search for her?"

"I don't know," he murmurs.  "So Eve- I mean, Julia's off to the abbey.  All right.  She'll be happier there."

"You think so?"

"By contrast, yes," Freddie whispers.  "She'll be as far away from me as she likes.  Even if she had that f---ing Passport, that's what she'd do.  Bury herself alive before she'd spend one more minute with me."

"Freddie, you don't know that," I begin.  "She was just a little freaked out, she'll come ba-"

"John, she hates me," he snaps.  "I'm just a lab rat- her assigned basket case.  She even said, and I quote, 'You're a monster and I hate you.' It doesn't get anymore to the point than that!"

This sounds familiar.  I decide not to tell Freddie that Julia was convinced that it was _he_ who hated _her_.

"And you know what," Freddie continues, "it's actually not at all a bad thing that she's gone.  We're both better off.  She will have her cloister, and I will have my life back.  Julia was a distraction, that's all she's any good at being.  I _am_ glad she's gone."

I don't say anything.

"I really am!" he goes on. "Do you know, ever since she got here I haven't been able to focus?  Really focus?  I've only written two new songs for the record- I might have written more, except she keeps interfering with my, um- it's like, I'll be sitting at the piano and the muse is almost upon me when she comes downstairs and she looks at me and smiles, and suddenly all I can think about is her face and that muse is gone and a different one comes along, and it's the same melody every time, a stupid little soft thing with no kick.  Pretty, but there's no power, and it wouldn't fit on the album at all, it's just-" He pauses, losing his train of thought, then resumes venting about Julia.

"And she's so- simple!  It completely escapes me, I just don't understand, how basic- she's like some flower girl born ten years too late.  I mean, I could give her a choice, right?  I might offer her anything she wanted from Cartier- diamond rings, pearls, what have you- or, as a second choice, a puppy.  And you know what she'd choose?"

"The puppy."

'Yes!  She'd pick the f---ing dog."

I rub my eyes.  I'd really like to go to sleep.  "Freddie, considering how you are about your cats, that shouldn't be so surprising-"

"But it's the principle of the thing!  She hates those kinds of things, period- jewels, things like that. And she's so f---ing _American_ , my God... and so easily amused, and- so distracting, with all her funny little quirks- She just has to open her mouth, and she has my attention, she just has to turn those big eyes on me and I'm caught... she just has to smile, and I'm..." He trails off, runs a listless hand through his hair, and walks away from me.

Then he stops, and sighs deeply, putting his hands on his hips.  His voice seems to deflate as the rant winds down.  "I suppose I got that wrong, though.  She might not feel anything else, but she can definitely hate.  She hates shopping, she hates jewelry, she hates shoes... and she hates me."

Freddie's body shivers, and his head lowers.  I can't tell you how awkward I'm feeling right now.  But as is my habit, I just stand there and wait.  Let's see where this ends up.

As I suspect, in the very next breath he whirls back around, his face wiped of expression.  "I must be going.  I've talked your ear off enough."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," I say, following him to the front.  He doesn't verbally reply, and keeps his back to me as he opens the door.

"I hope you find her," I mutter.  When he glances back at me, I explain quickly, "To get the thing back, whatever it is."

He half-smiles and shrugs.  "It would be nice if it was that easy."

"Isn't it?"

"Not really," Freddie answers, then bows his head again.  "Good night, John."

And out the door he walks. 

Strange, that I've become so personally involved in this little _tête-à-tête_ of theirs. Not to repeat myself, I simply can't understand it. I usually have no patience for this kind of drama, but it's fallen squarely in my lap- our laps, now, Veronica's and mine- with parts written especially for us. What can we do but play them.

I'm just about to walk down the hall, hopefully for the last time, when I see Freddie's jacket draped across the comfy chair. Silly fellow. Comes in with a likely story about forgetting something, only to truly leave something behind before he goes. Maybe I can catch him before his car pulls away.

So I scoop up the jacket and scramble out the door. As luck would have it, the Rolls is still parked by the curb. Rudy's just ignited the motor, so I step lively.

Freddie's sitting on the side closest to me, and the cabin light is on. I raise my hand to tap on the window but hesitate. Squinting, I peer closer.  Freddie's hunched over, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward, face in his hands. His body is quietly shuddering.  He clearly has no idea I'm standing here. Very cautiously, I tap the glass.  Freddie lifts his head, turns to me.

I have to take a step back.  I almost don't believe my eyes.

I've never seen him cry before.

His splotchy red face stiffens; the glassy eyes narrow.  Quickly he brushes a single tear off his cheek and glares at me as if to say, "How dare you sneak up on me like that!"

I simply hold up his jacket and say, "You left this."

Then his features soften a tad, and he opens the door.  I hand it to him, and he nods an embarrassed thank-you.  He doesn't say a word as he lays his jacket on the seat and closes the door again, turning his face away from me.  Rudy turns out the cabin light, and without warning they zip off, skidding down the street as fast as possible.

But I saw it.  In that tiny quarter of a second before he concealed his feelings, I saw it.  It was unmistakable.  And it was real.

Oh, Freddie, you poor haughty fool.

I walk slowly back into the house, not quite as unsure as I was when I had stepped out of it.  It's a much more enlightened John that crawls back between the sheets beside Veronica.  I lay back, my hands clasped behind my head.

"Ron," I say after a moment.

"John," she whispers back.

I swallow.  "We have two very stubborn lovebirds on our hands."

"I know."  She smiles.  "Though I think 'lovecat' is a better word."

"Why's that?"

"Use your imagination."

"Too late for that.  I'm whacked."

"So go to sleep."

I close my eyes and roll over.  "Ron?"

She sighs.  "Yes?"

"You think they'll work it out?"

"Maybe.  I hope so."

"Yeah. But do you think they will?"

"Oh, John, it's far too late, and all four of us need our rest. I'll tell you tomorrow- if I remember."

"Mm.  Very well.  Love you, darling."

"Love you, too, dear."

"Good night."

"Good night."

I close my eyes- then open them again.  My brows come together. 

"Did you say, four?"

All she does is giggle into the pillow. 

 


	58. Ain't No Hill High Enough

Someone tapped my shoulder, rousing me from my half-slumber.  I shifted and moaned softly, "Hm?"

"Aren't you traveling to Bath?" they whispered.

I nodded, straightening up on the bench. "Yeah..."

They pointed.  "There's your bus."

I leapt to my feet, stifling a yawn.  Sure enough, there was my ride, a long red British bus, destination Bath.  Climbing aboard the sparsely filled bus, I paid the driver and found a seat by the window.  I set my backpack in my lap, arms wrapped tightly round it.  A two hour ride lay ahead of me, and I intended to use it exclusively for sleep.  Since the Android was running low on power, I decided I would brave the dream, despite its horrors and sick, wretched contents.  And I didn't just mean the Freddie part.

_Oh, cut it out, me_ , I told myself wearily.  _It's five o'clock in the morning, dammit- I mean darn it.  If I'm going to join an abbey, I'd better shed the wayward habits I've acquired while in his presence.  If I can even get to all of them.  God, what he's done to me._

Still, I knew I ought to put an end to thoughts of him, especially those of a bitter, injured nature.  Not only because I needed to put my own troubled mind at ease.  Not only because a future nun couldn't afford to be so acerbic.  But because mainly, deep down inside, I was already missing him. 

I missed a stone-hearted, foul-mouthed, sex-crazed hedonist.  It turned my stomach, but it was true. 

I had had so much fun at the start, and the memories made were priceless. We had been friends, for a while. And friends we could have stayed, if only things hadn't taken such a physical turn. Something that had begun in a much more chaste, platonic vein, now heavily slathered with sensuality and lust. For I still wanted him- and I knew that, since I yet again hadn't fully complied, he likely still wanted me.

But I couldn't help the fact that I needed him.  It wasn't my fault.  Freddie was so naturally addictive.  I knew he wouldn't miss me, at least not for very long; he'd go back to Joe, or Minsy, or whoever.  _It's Joe right now, I think.  Freddie's lovers transition like phases of the moon.  Minsy's a waning crescent, Joe's a waxing gibbous.  I'm sure Brian the Space Brain would agree- if he cared._

Despite my thoughts, I would have given a lot right then to hear him laugh, and feel his hand close over mine, and say something ridiculous. 

I glanced across the aisle at a wispy little man wringing his hands and hunching against the window.  I could already hear Freddie's whispery sarcasm.  Something like, "Look at that poor shivering mouse over there.  That's what you become when you cut and run every time Life comes around and knocks you for six."

I blinked.  Automatically I wondered to myself, _Aren't I cutting and running now?  Aren't I resigning myself to be a mouse?_

But I didn't cut and run all the time.  I had been pretty darn game for close to two weeks.  This was only my second solo venture- and this time, I intended to do something with it, make it count.  I couldn't keep waiting on the Relic, and I refused to pleasure Freddie simply to get my hands on the fake Passport.  Did I have a choice?  Yes, I did.  And I'd made it.

_I've chosen to be a mouse.  Not standing out, not sticking out.  Just melting into the background.  That's what I claimed to want.  I ought to be happy.  What's worse, a mundane mouse, or a kept kitten?_

With a sad sigh, I stared out the window while the last few passengers boarded.  It wasn't really raining anymore, but there was still a muggy mistiness in the air.  My breath fogged up the glass; I traced the letters "H E L P" backwards so that it could be read from outside, and a little ugly face with an absurd grin right underneath.  I laughed excessively at my own immaturity, which was a telltale symptom of my dangerous state- tired, hungry, and upset.

"Oof!" Somebody tripped over something a few rows behind me, perhaps some woman's purse or foot.

The offended magpie scolded, "Watch your step there, Colossus!"  She received a soft grunt of an apology, and then everything settled down again.

There was a hiss as the bus doors closed, and the wheels started to turn under us ragtag travelers.  Once more I felt a chill rush down my spine.  I was actually doing this.  I was leaving London.  I would never see Freddie again. 

But that was the way it was always supposed to be.

We pulled out onto the M4, heading for Bath.  Under my breath, I whispered, "Today, I get me to a nunnery."

I clenched my hands round my backpack and watched my knuckles turn white. As the minutes passed, the awakening hustle-bustle city gave way to rolling green hills with well-maintained little cottages and villages scattered about, set off beautifully by a rising sun.  Against my will I thought of the sunrise Freddie and I had watched that morning in Vegas.  I turned my head and closed my eyes, squeezing my lids against the memory.

_Can I please go home now?_ I asked myself, then drifted away _.  
_

And just as I expected, the magenta scene rose up before me yet again.  Like so many times before, I found myself faced with this choice: Freddie, or the Relic.

"Honestly, darling, make up your mind," Dream Freddie cajoled. "You know how I hate waiting."

But I was much more decisive this time.  I reached for the Relic.

Dream-Freddie cringed audibly.  "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I scowled.  "Why not?  It means I get out of here."

"Perhaps.  But is that what you really want?"

"I want things to be the way they used to be."

"So, me dead and overexposed, and you isolated and over-analytical.  Mm.  Sounds like heaven."

I spluttered, "That's not what I mean!"

"That's what it comes down to, dear."

"I was never supposed to be here!  I was never supposed to come along and f--- things up the way I have.  No standing in the way of Destiny.  Your words, not mine!"

"Who's to say this wasn't Destiny all along?"

"Huh?"

"Who's to say you weren't always a part of my life?"

I squinted.  That didn't make any sense.  "But I wasn't!  I- Look.  I want you to be happy, I want myself to be happy, but that's only possible for the both of us if I remove myself from the picture."

"What do you know about what makes me happy?" Dream Freddie scoffed. "My God, your head's such a mess you don't even know what makes _you_ happy!"

"Well, whatever it is that does, it doesn't involve our togetherness.  We're no earthly  good to each other, we're better off apart."

"How do you know?"

"I simply do.  It's obvious."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Freddie cried.  "You don't know because you don't give it a chance!  How do you know that staying with me wouldn't make you happy?"

"I'm going to be a nun-"

"Yeah, good luck with that.  Is that what you want?"

"I'll tell you what I want," I shouted.  "I want my security back.  I want my life back.  I want 2017 back!  And so- I choose the Relic!"

I seized the Relic in my hands. 

And then it started.  The magenta mist thickened, morphed into a deep, murderous red.  The light around us vanished, the scarlet fog throbbing with an ominous glow all its own- the only light I could see.  My skin crawling, I squinted at Dream-Freddie.

And I gasped.

The hand he was still holding toward me began to change.  Starting at his fingertips, some invisible evil seemed to eat away at his flesh, progressing down his fingers, his palm, his wrist, until that horrid skeletal hand in all its macabre glory was all that was left. 

Dream-Freddie sighed.  "I tried to tell you." 

Just then, the Relic began ringing, but I paid no attention.  I was staring at a resigned Freddie as bit by bit he was slowly consumed.  Now the stuff had eaten past his elbow, was climbing up his forearm, leaving nothing behind but polished ivory bone.  At last I found the voice to scream, and I threw down the Relic and ran madly toward him, but then the scene kicked back into action and into the ravine he plunged...

My own dry sobs woke me.  The Mouse Man was watching from his corner, a look of concern developing behind his spectacles.  Outside the sun was rising higher, and the bus was moving slower.  We apparently had ridden all the way to Bath while I dozed.

I put my face in my hands.  Never before had I known such torment.  Of course, it would take someone like Freddie to bring it to me.  _I'm going crazy.  I'm just sitting here on a bus, quietly losing my mind._

At last we pulled up to our stop, and the doors opened out onto the streets of Bath.  I picked up my backpack and shuffled down the aisle, right behind Mouse Man. 

"Excuse me, sir," I whispered, tapping Mouse Man's shoulder.  "Which way is it to Bath Abbey?"

He looked briefly at me and shrugged, replying in a soft, Irish cadence, "Never been."

"Me neither," I murmured.  "Ever been to Bath?"

He shook his head.  "I'm just here for the hill."

"You mean, Solsbury Hill?"

He nodded sheepishly.  "Heard the song, wanted to see it."  He looked almost embarrassed at himself for being such a sucker for Peter Gabriel.

"I was going to stop there before hitting the Abbey.  Which way is that?  Solsbury Hill, I mean."

We were off the bus by now.  To answer me, Mouse Man pulled a crumpled up map out of his pocket and started poking his trembling finger into various parts of the paper, trying to explain.  "I think you go here, then up this way, then turn there, and there it is."

I blinked, half-understanding.  "That's not too far, I think I'll walk.  Thanks!"

He nodded and scurried toward down the sidewalk.  I guess he had a few things to do before climbing the hill- like breakfast.  Ooo.  Breakfast sounded fantastic.  I'd feel a whole lot better once I had eaten.  I couldn't be successfully interviewed by the sisters on an empty stomach anyway. 

I looked around the city, enchanted with the sights.  It was only seven, though.  The hill was about three miles away, about forty-five minutes to an hour of walking.  It was better to have my little jaunt now as opposed to later.  I didn't want to reach the Abbey too late and miss my window of opportunity, if there was one.

The bus pulled away from the station, then, and started winding back down the road.  Behind where it had been idling, a lemon-yellow Jaguar convertible was parked.  The front door shut; its owner had just climbed back in.  The engine started up, and the car pulled away from the curb and headed down the road on which Mouse Man said I would have to start to reach Little Solsbury Hill.  _Now, that is one hot ride_ , I remarked to myself.

I put my hands on my hips.  They felt bonier than they had been at the start of all this, but that was no shock.  I was indeed thinner.  Not gaunt and sickly-looking, just thin; last night, staring into the mirror, I had noticed my cheekbones seemed a bit more defined, and my clothes hung a tad looser upon my body.  All the walking, running, lack of sleep, inconsistent schedule of everything, and constant emotional upheaval- I was bound to lose a few pounds.  

But I still had enough energy to walk three miles, and it was a cool morning.  Besides, there was no better time for meditative introspection than a walk through such a green, pristine world- literally backpacking through England.  I was feeling much more stable than earlier, so my thoughts would be clearer, and my emotions, mellower.  

I took a deep breath and tried not to think about the dream.  _Easy does it._

_************************************************************************************_

Mouse Man and I were apparently not the only ones searching for a spiritual awakening at this storied hill.  As I climbed up, a group of four or five were climbing down to their cars.  As I passed them I waved, fighting the impulse to ask if any eagles had flown by or any random authority figures had come along and told them he was taking them home. 

When I looked back down and watched them, I saw that same yellow Jaguar parked among them, but nobody walked toward the car.  After a moment, the driver's door opened.  I felt a strange little foreboding feeling, but nothing too terrible.  I knew nobody who drove a Jag that had any interest in finding me.  I kept going and didn't look back again.

At last I reached the top of the hill.  In spite of myself, I smiled.  I planted my feet into the rich earth and stretched my hands up to thread against the soft, warming breeze.  I gazed in awe upon the almost storybook perfection of the city of Bath, much smaller from where I stood.  Solsbury Hill isn't impressively vast or tall, hence why people call it a hill instead of a mountain.  But it felt like I was on top of the world, momentarily removed from my own weeping wounds, my own crazy situation.  I breathed, feeling the sun's gentle beams on my face.

_God must really love us, or else He wouldn't give us such marvelous things to see and touch.  I just wish I wasn't so alone up here.  Funny, but I'm not as lone wolf as I used to be.  I wish someone was here to see this alongside me.  Even just a stranger, as long as I wasn't alone.  
_

Then I wondered to myself, if I would still be alone in spirit even in the company of fellow women at the Abbey.  If I could learn to need someone, surely it was possible to learn to not need someone _,_ the way I used to.  Once, I could take people or leave them _,_ but at the same time I wanted to understand them.  There was always a removed feeling.  A disconnect.  

But now, I was just as needy and neurotic as anybody else- perhaps more.  I needed people's company. Freddie was wrong.  I did feel.  I felt a great deal.  The question was, did it serve to show it? _  
_

You would think by this point, I'd already have figured out the answer to that question.  But I still needed a few more kicks in the head.  Luckily, they were on the way.  And this was the next one.

"I say," someone exclaimed behind me.  "I really did have you pegged!"

The deep voice sounded disturbingly familiar.  My back stiffened.  _Don't turn around.  It's your imagination acting up.  Don't turn around!_

But I turned around.

And had to look up just to meet the gray eyes of one Rudolph Barnes.  

"Hello, Julia," he said.  "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

 

 


	59. Rudy Can't Fail

  
I stared, eyes wide, jaw slack.  For a moment words betrayed me. Rudy was here?  Impossible!  How did he know I was headed to Solsbury Hill; how did he know I'd come all the way to Bath at all? Had he been following me this whole time? And more importantly, was he alone?

Immediately I started looking around for the Persian prince, But Rudy only shook his head. "It's just me. He's not here."

"Whew!" I tried to disregard the flare of deep disappointment in my chest.  "Then, where is he?"

"Damned if I know.  Wessex, maybe.  Could still be at home."

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "Why aren't you driving for him today?"

"It's my day off," he replied. "I thought I'd take a little ride, have an excursion-"

"That's such crap, Rudy," I scoffed. "All of it!"

"No, not all. This really is my day off."

I rolled my eyes, hands on my hips. "How did you know I'd be coming here?"

"I'd tell you, but it's a long story and I haven't eaten yet. You haven't either, I'll wager."

"No," I said without thinking. Even if I had lied, it wouldn't have done much good; right then my stomach rumbled rather loudly.

Rudy nodded decisively.  "I can explain over a little breakfast.  I'll buy."

I sighed, already feeling myself weaken.  Food: the millenial's Achilles heel.  "I'd love to, Rudy, but I'm actually in something of a hurry, so I- uh..."

"Where are you off to? The Abbey?"

"How did you know?" I asked.

"A guess."

_Also known as, Freddie made some snarky remark._ "Well, that _is_ where I'm off to, so, er, I'll just be heading that way."

"It's at least one or two hours' walk.  I can give you a lift."  Rudy pointed down at the Jag.

I nodded, assuming good intentions.  "Now, that, I will take you up on.  Thanks."  So we marched back down the hill, saying nothing till we reached the sporty little yellow dart waiting at the side of the road.  _Freddie must pay awfully well, if this is Rudy's leisure vehicle._

Rudy opened the door for me, and I slid in.  Then he walked around to the right side and tucked himself into the driver's seat.  Such a little car for such a big man- and so loud and eye-catching for a guy who said as little as possible.

He started the car, then looked at me.  "After breakfast."

Before I could protest, Rudy sped away from Solsbury Hill.  Why did I even bother making decisions anymore?  In dignified resignation, I sat back.

Before long, we were back in the city center.  We passed one, two, three different mom and pop restaurants and two pubs.  Suddenly a sneaking suspicion hit me.  

"You're just taking me to breakfast, right?" I asked cautiously.

Rudy nodded.

We passed another little cafe.  "So... where?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask that," Rudy murmured.  "I know this charming little tea house down in Piccadilly-"

I flipped.  _Oh, no.  Not again._

My heart pounding, I shouted, "Pull over!"

"Julia, wait just a mo-"

"I said, PULL OVER!  NOW!"  I paused, then added, "PLEASE!"

Rudy opened his mouth, then sighed.  Wordlessly he pulled over.  We had stopped on a bridge, a large bridge stretching across a lovely river that rippled gently underneath us.  Since it was still rather early in the day, we didn't disturb anyone's commute.  Not that I was really concerned.

Without a word I opened the door to jump out, backpack in hand.  Before I closed it behind me, Rudy pleaded, "Julia, will you please get back in the car?"

"What for?" I snapped.  

"Let- let me explain-"

"What's to explain?  You were going to take me back!"

"Julia-"

My anger reached new heights.  For a moment it was as though I had separated from my body and I was watching myself from a distance.  I saw myself lean back in toward Rudy and actually pull the keys out of the ignition.  Frantically he scrambled out of the Jag and watched in horror as I held my hand over the river, the keys dangling freely between my fingers, my face contorted into an unhinged, victorious grin.  I can only imagine that I was the spitting image of insanity.  

Very carefully Rudy came closer, walked around the car, and stood beside me.  I blinked slowly, my arm still outstretched over the water.  

"Can you tell that I've had enough?" I said at last.

"Yes," Rudy replied.  "It's rather obvious."

"Then you'll be good enough to promise you're leaving right this minute, without me, and we'll just forgive and forget the past twenty-four hours ever existed- and I'll give you back the keys."

Rudy shook his head.  "Julia, I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me, Rudy!  God, I am so sick of liars, and I'm so sick of lying!  And now you're doing it!  You were going to just bring me back to that- thing-"

"Julia, please," Rudy said quietly.  "Please calm down, let me talk to you.  Okay?"

"I thought you were the silent type," I remarked.

"Not today," he answered.  "All I want is five minutes.  I just need your undivided attention for that long.  Hear me out."

"And then, what?"

"Then I leave."

"Without me?"

"Not impossibly."

"I'm afraid you'll have to-"

"I'm making no such promise.  It should be enough that I'll be gone for good after five minutes.  All right?"

With a sigh, I at last nodded.  To show him I meant business, I pulled out my Android and set the countdown timer for five minutes.  "Ready?"

Rudy sighed as well, but said, "I'm ready."

I pressed the start.  "Go."

Rudy put his hand on the side of the bridge.  "Are you listening?"

My eyes focused on a little boat sitting quietly upon the river, and for a minute all I wanted was to be on that boat making small conversation with a perfect stranger.  "I'm listening."

"So," he began.  "You really think you're going to join the Abbey?"

"I don't just think," I replied.  "I know."

"Mm."

"What does that mean?"

"I'd tell you, but you wouldn't like it."

"Spit it out, I can take it."

"Well- if you don't mind my saying so, you wouldn't last two seconds as a nun."

My eyes narrowed.  "Why do you say that?"

"You wouldn't like that, ei-"

"For heaven's sake, Rudy, just talk.  You're eating away at your own time."

Rudy cleared his throat.  "I say that, because I know Freddie wouldn't last two seconds as a vicar."

I almost smiled at that, but checked myself.  "What does Freddie have to do with it?"

"I've worked for Freddie for about seven months now.  I don't say much, don't react to much.  I simply watch.  And I know how his head functions."

"Well, you're ahead of me, man.  He's beyond my comprehension."

"And because I know him, I also know you, and how your head works."

"So you've got us both pegged.  But we're mutually exclusive.  What does his head have to do with mine?"

"Yes, I have you and Freddie pegged," Rudy repeated.  "But here's the thing: you take up the same hole."

I turned and looked at him, thoroughly confused. So he rephrased what he had just said: "In many ways, Julia, you and Freddie are practically the same person."

My eyes narrowed, and I laughed sarcastically.  "Oh, that's good.  That's really good.  First you follow me all the way to Bath, then you try to kidnap me, and now you're just flat-out insulting me.  Keep it coming, Mr. Barnes.  You're on a roll."

Rudy folded his arms and shook his head.  "Think about it.  You know it's true."

"Freddie and I are entirely different!  He's the kooky extrovert, and I'm - I'm everything he naturally steers clear of!  'Extremely straight people bore me.' That's an exact quote!"

Rudy looked me up and down.  "Sorry, Julia, I'm afraid you don't qualify."

"What?"

"You only think you do."

"He said, _I bore him_!  To my face!"

"You think he meant it?"

"I believe he did."

"Well, then, he bores himself, because you two could be twins, the way you act sometimes, the way you think-"

I lifted my chin.  "Name me five ways we're anything alike.  And keep it short, you just have three and a half minutes left."

"One, you're both fatally stubborn.  Two, if there's something that interests you, you'll stop at nothing to learn all about it.  Almost obsessive natures.  Three, you do things just to get a rise out of each other."

"I never-" But I stopped.  Countless moments during Mission Implausible served as evidence in Rudy's favor.  And every time I took off my shoes while out and about, I did it with the intent of making him roll his eyes... making him notice...

"Four," Rudy continued.  "Four,  your senses of humor are almost identical.  That biting edge, the constant barrage of sarcasm- Good God.  On the plane coming back, you wouldn't let up on each other- and the little dirty things you two snicker at-"

"Uh, no, I call foul here.  He's the one who cracks the sex one-liners, not me.  He's so sexually charged, Rudy.  You can't tell me I am!"

Rudy just blinked.  "Um, you sort of are- but in a very repressed sort of way."

"But he's the one who says-"

"And who's the one who laughs?  It's not me.  I'd do better as a nun than you.  And five, lastly, though there's so much more..."

"What?"

"You two are so obsessed with keeping your independence, your control- yet you're anything but independent."

Freddie's very words echoed in my head: "I was out of control!"

I snorted.  "Again, I'm not nearly the fastidious control freak that he is."

"It's not about being a control freak, it's about- wanting to be your own person.  Not leaning on anyone else, not being in anyone's debt."

I thought of the way Freddie was so extravagant with gifts and money, giving expensive watches to one night stands he would never see again, hundred pound notes to complete strangers who had performed some little favor for him.  I could understand that well enough.  Overcompensation cleared his conscience.  He didn't want to be in anyone's debt.  He didn't want to owe anything to anybody. 

Neither did I.  That's why I hated not having a job, that's why I felt so awkward whenever Freddie showered me with goodies.  I felt like I had to make it up to him somehow.  I hadn't done anything to deserve such generosity, and it was a long five months till Christmas and my birthday (though technically, my birthday was indeed fast approaching, only a few days away by now).  I didn't like being a dependent, a helpless child to be amused with jewelry, trips, or any other shiny little toy.  More generally, I didn't like being out-

Out of control.  

My stomach writhed.  _Oh, God.  We_ are _a lot alike.  Peter was right, Rudy's right!  Great, I want to die all over again!_

I looked down at the timer.  One minute left.  "Okay, so we've got lots in common," I murmured.  "What does that have to do with you being here- on your day off?"

"I'm here," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, "to tell you that, while I respect your decision to join the Abbey or what have you, understand that there will be at least two people made very unhappy if that's the way you choose."

I blinked, and for the first time realized how unkindly I had behaved to Rudy.  Never before in my life had I just ripped the keys out of someone else's car and threatened to throw them into the River Avon.  I didn't think myself capable of it.  

However, no matter the situation, I'd been quite selfish.  And a nun, if nothing else, was utterly altruistic; proper nuns don't have a selfish bone in their bodies.  I sighed, and lowered my arm.

"Here," I whispered, handing Rudy his keys.  "You're right.  I can't be a nun.  I'm too mean.  They'd kick me out before I ever made up my mind to leave."

Rudy blinked. "You mean you're- not joining a convent?"

"I'm not meant for it. Certainly not if I'm anything like him." I sighed deeply. Again I faced the river, leaning against the bridge.  That little boat was floating closer now, heading under the bridge.  It looked so peaceful.  

_I never knew peace could be so fleeting, so hard to come by.  This must have been how Freddie felt all the time.  That's why he was so unhappy.  There was never any peace.  Either he didn't want it bad enough to hold onto it- or he simply couldn't find it.  Or, perhaps, he had it once, very briefly, and then without warning it vanished.  I'd be bitter, too, if that happened to me._

I felt myself soften inside.  A dangerous turn of events, but it was happening.  Strange, that after being faced with our own similarities, I could understand him a little better.  The wounds upon my soul seemed to reopen. Good God, I was actually aching for him. What for?

"Why don't you come back, Julia?" Rudy said softly.

I scoffed, belying my feelings. "Why would I do that?"

"From a purely practical standpoint, because he still apparently has your Passport, and if you ask nicely, he might give it to you," Rudy replied.  "And on the other hand-"

Right here the timer buzzed the angry "Danger" sound I'd used to startle Freddie a week ago.  

Rudy shrugged.  "Well, time's up, I'd better-"

"No, please finish," I said.  "On the other hand?"

Freddie's driver looked me over, and put his hand over mine.  "On the other hand, because he's terribly sorry about last night."

"How do you know?"

"Because in the seven or so months I've worked for him, I've never seen him cry before- and he was inconsolable all the time we spent looking-"

"He cried?" I whispered.  This was beyond me.  I couldn't even picture Freddie with tears in his eyes.  I'd seen him look sad before, but- Freddie crying?  Over me?  Impossible.  But Rudy kept talking.

"My God.  You should have heard him.  He called me up at about eleven, I could hardly understand him.  He kept saying over and over 'I f---ed up, I f---ed this up so completely'- we drove all over London looking for you." 

"Then why, if Freddie allegedly cares so much for me, are you here instead of him?"

"You know how he is," Rudy replied.  "He has to put on a good face for his party thing tonight."

"Oh, yes, the dinner party," I murmured.  "My, my, poor Joe's going to have to probably stand in as chef.  I can just hear the phone call now."

"He won't have to pretend to be happy, though," Rudy said, "if you come back."

I didn't answer.  

Rudy cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "He, uh- he loves you, you know."

_Oh, God_.

I bit my lip and closed my eyes.  That was the worst one yet.  Not just falling, not just in love, but "He loves you."  With great effort I refused to let that get to me, but little pieces slipped in regardless.  Of course, I didn't accept it, for that would be the biggest mistake ever- and still my heart ached even more.  

"You do realize," I managed, "that makes you number three, after Peter and Mary, telling me how he feels because he hasn't the guts- or actual emotion- to say it for himself?"

Rudy sighed deeply.  "You, both of you- I'm thirty-four years old and I've never known anyone more obstinate than you.  Both of you have such a capacity to love, and love deeply, if you'd only loosen up and let it be tapped.  Julia, if you would just stop being so suspicious, and believe that maybe the man isn't all that bad after all... that maybe he does feel, then perhaps he'll decide that you have feelings as well, and then..."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," Rudy shrugged.  "That's up to you two."

I stood there a moment.  Then I pushed off the bridge and folded my arms, ignoring the little sting in my finger.  "I'm not all that stubborn, Rudy," I said.  "I know when I'm licked."

His eyes widened in surprise.  "You'll come back?"

"For the Passport," I said.  "And breakfast.  That's it.  And then I'm gone.  Take what money I have left, buy a one-way ticket to America.  I'll have a better chance there, right?"

Rudy rolled his eyes.  "And least you're coming back."

"Hopefully he left it at home or something, I can just sneak in and grab it.  Does he know you're here?"  He shook his head.  "Good, then he likely won't be expecting me at all.  He has to be at the studio by now."

"Perhaps," he mumbled.  Looking down, he twirled the keys around his finger.  "So shall we?"

I hesitated a moment, gazed down the road we had just driven down, toward the hill and the Abbey, then looked back at Rudy.  

"We shall," I replied.  Submissively, then, I clambered back into the Jag.  Rudy started the engine back up, and we heading down the road.

For at least half an hour, we said nothing, and I contented myself with looking out at the green countryside, which had a certain sparkle to it thanks to last night's rain and this morning's dew.  

"I wonder where he slept last night," I mused finally.

"He didn't," Rudy answered, eyes on the road.

Another long pause, and then Rudy put the top down.  The wind made shambles of my already messy, rained-on hair and Rudy's dark brown seventies' hairdo, even his sideburns twitching in the breeze.  Then he pressed "Play" on the stereo, and the cassette tape inside began to turn.  To my surprise, the very song I had sung for Rudy the third day began booming out of the speakers into the open air.

"Raindrops keep fallin' on my head..." BJ Thomas sang.  I frowned and looked at Rudy.

All he did was smile and say, "Because, we little black rain clouds need it."

He was right.  I couldn't help myself.  The song was too happy, and it was too necessary a salve.  I began singing along- and much to my delight, Rudy joined me, tapping the steering wheel.  I put my hands up in the wind, waving my arms to the beat.  Right that moment, the world made sense- and nothing was wrong.  For a second or two, I forgot to worry, or be afraid.  

As the song finished, and another BJ Thomas song began to play (I guess it was some sort of Greatest Hits compilation), Rudy tapped my shoulder.  I looked at him.

"It's going to be all right," he informed me.  "Okay?"

I nodded.  "I know.  There's always a plan."

"Exactly," he said.

"So how did you know I was here?" I asked.  "You never did say."

"It really was a guess- but a more educated one than your typical wild.  See, when we pulled up to John's house, I heard your voice down the street.  Freddie I guess didn't catch-"

"You guys went by John's?"  My eyes widened.  "That was you with the brakes?"

"I had Freddie yelling at me right behind my head 'STOP!  IT'S THAT ONE!  STOP! STOP!' so if I didn't park so gracefully I apologize."

"You heard me?" I squinted.

"I heard the song you were singing.  'Solsbury Hill.'  You have a very distinct singing voice, I knew it was you right away, and I tried to tell him, but- I suppose he just didn't think it had to do with you, so he didn't pay attention.  And when I found out you were off to some Abbey somewhere, I sort of put it all together.  A reach, but it was an idea."  He smiled.  "And I was right."

I sat there a moment, then murmured, "You know, if nothing else, for all the insanity that's taken place ever since I got here, for all the good and bad- I've had such wonderful people to help me through it.  John, Veronica, you, Stoner K- even Peter Straker, to some degree..."

"Don't forget Freddie," he reminded me.

I rolled my eyes.  "Don't push it, fella.  I'm not that forgiving," I said, tongue in cheek.  All he did was laugh.  He had nice, deep one too, contagious enough to make me smile.

But as we drove away from Bath, the soft, temperate air blowing around us, BJ Thomas crooning "Hooked on a Feeling," I heard the thought in my head move too fast to stop, but slow enough to understand:

_Especially Freddie..._

 


	60. It's Always Something

"Honestly, though," I said as we turned onto Stafford Terrace. "Who holds a dinner party on a Tuesday evening?"

A pause, then Rudy and I answered in unison, "Freddie." He laughed, and I just rolled my eyes.

My stomach was kneading itself again, and had been ever since we finished brunch. Supposing Freddie hadn't gone to Wessex, in order to prep for the little soiree tonight? Supposing he would be home? At this point I was still skittish, and I had no way of knowing for certain that anything Rudy had told me was the truth. I took it all on blind faith- except the potentially complicated parts, like a tearful Freddie or the idea that he...

No. Uh-uh. It didn't even bear thinking about.

In short, my nerves remained shot; I was in no mood for a second installment of last night. That's why I quietly asked Rudy to put the top of his convertible back up.

"Just in case," I explained. So, with an understanding nod, Rudy pushed the button, and by the time we reached his door our heads were covered, our identities better hidden. For a moment, I hesitated, staring at the shut blue door as the Jag idled.

"Rudy," I said, half-stalling, "why'd you do it?"

He frowned, confused.

"You know. Why did you follow me all the way out there just to bring me back? You didn't have to put yourself out like that."

"On the contrary," Rudy replied. "It was my pleasure."

"But you didn't have to. You could have just let me go-"

"Julia, you have to understand something," Rudy interrupted. "However you think he feels, however you even feel, you're very good for him. Wait." He held up his hand, for he could see me opening my mouth to argue. "You are. And however this pans out, I think it's safe to say... to say he's needed someone like you in his life for a long, long time. Why should I let something like that slip away so easily when I have the opportunity to act?"

"I, uh- don't know about that," I whispered, "but thank you for saying it anyway. It helps."

I glanced at my tracker, still glowing red. Yesterday morning I had looked down and seen it go blue for a couple of minutes. Whoever or whatever had my Nokia Relic must have had quite an interesting conversation had they answered it- assuming they even knew how.

Ah, C and K. They certainly hadn't planned on this. I wondered if they'd given up on me, it had been so long. If they had, I couldn't blame them. The chances were devastatingly slim that the Relic would just magically fall back into my lap, no matter if it was working and within a five mile radius. My family? They likely would be giving up the search fairly soon, accepting that I was gone forever- and I would go down as another unexplained mystery, the missing naive psych student who just _had_ to have a stupid 4.0 in the gradebook.

_Maybe if I can keep it together the next forty years, I can attend my own funeral. Wow, that would be trippy._

"Nervous?" Rudy asked.

"Can you blame me?" I replied. "I'm about to sneak into his flat and I don't even know if he's home."

"Would you like for me to see?" he offered.

I didn't answer, which he took for a resounding "yes." So he squeezed out of the car and marched up to the front door. I ducked down behind the window, leaving only the top of my head and my obvious eyes visible. My fingers were crossed. Rudy rapped sharply upon the door.

No answer.

He rang the bell.

No answer.

Rudy turned back around and shook his head. I was in the clear. But somehow that only made my heart pound harder. _Oh, please let Freddie have left the Passport here. Please, oh, please, oh, please._

"I would stay and wait until you came out," Rudy said when I got out of the car, "but I've got a few housekeeping things to do- have to go feed Clarence."

"Clarence?" I repeated.

"My turtle."

I couldn't help smiling. "You have a turtle?"

He nodded, almost looking embarrassed.

"How long have you had him?"

"Ten years."

"Wow. You must be doing something right."

Rudy shrugged. "I just feed him mostly, he does the rest."

I arched my eyebrow. "Yeah, okay. Anyway, I won't keep you any longer. This is your day off after all."

So I shook his hand, decided that felt too impersonal for saying goodbye to a friend, and pulled him in for a hug, for which he almost had to bend down. "Thanks, Rudy. You've been fantastic."

With a small flush in his cheeks, Rudy nodded and patted my shoulder. As he climbed into the Jag, I called, "Give Clarence a kiss for me."

He grinned. "Now who does that sound like?"

I covered my eyes. "I can't help it, things rub off, okay?"

Putting the top back down, Rudy revved up the engine once more, waved, and away he went, leaving me and my backpack standing on the curb. I swallowed, then turned around.

_I'm here for the Passport. That's all. I have nothing to fear, he's not here_.

So like a good soldier I held my head high and marched to the door. Taking my keys in hand, I rattled around till I found the one to his apartment, and put it into the lock.

I was just about to turn the knob when it moved all by itself. I almost expired right there on the stoop. _Oh, no. NO NO NO-_

And the door opened, and a familiar middle-aged woman peered out at me. "Ms. Dubroc?"

I collapsed into nervous laughter, clutching at my heart. "Oh, Ms. Cottage!" I gasped. "Thank God! I thought- Oh, thank God!"

If Ms. Cottage, his housekeeper, was confused at my elation, she didn't show it. She opened the door wider and let me in. "I was wondering where you were meself," she remarked. "It was so quiet this morning, I thought maybe you were still on your trip."

"Well, I'm not here to stay," I assured her. "I'm heading out, just need to pick up a few things that belong to me."

"Ah," Ms. Cottage nodded, knowing better than to pry. Taking her feather duster in hand, she went back to flicking the shelves. I rushed back up to my ro- the green bedroom, that is. I had to stop thinking of that room as mine.

I found the door shut when I came upon the bedroom. To be safe I knocked, and to my sheer relief, no one answered. When I opened the room, I found it in apple pie order. Ms. Cottage must have just fixed it up- not that she had to do too much, Freddie and I were not natural slobs. But the furniture was polished, the windows sparkling, the bed blankets so pristine they looked starched and pressed. I felt afraid to touch anything, as though one fingerprint would cause this image of perfection to wilt.

On the dresser, I saw it- the little dark green Passport, sitting on top of my journal which was almost the exact same shade. Quickly I rushed over and checked to make sure everything was still intact, especially in the case of my notes. I flipped through the pages a moment, feeling a little sick inside when I saw the entries to which Freddie had been referring, when he said I couldn't get enough of his body. It wouldn't have been hard to draw to that conclusion at all. Not that I had described in nauseatingly graphic detail how I'd imagined certain parts of his anatomy would look or feel, but still, the nature of my words was clear.

I looked around me one more time, then walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder I strode back down the stairs. Despite the fact that Freddie could materialize at any moment, I was in no hurry. I walked past the sofa and patted Tom's and Tiff's heads, noting one particular absence.

"What did you hooligans do with Oscar?" I whispered.

At that moment I heard a loud clatter in the kitchen. And Ms. Cottage shrieked, "OH- why, you cheeky rascal, give me such a fright!"

I rushed into the kitchen to see Ms. Cottage wrestling with my favorite orange tabby. Oscar had jumped from one of the shelves onto her back while she was busy regathering her equipment, knocking over a few of her things. Fortunately, nothing was broken.

"Here, take the little devil," she said with a smile, handing the fur ball to me. "I have to be on my way, anything else you would like for me to do?"

"Oh no, you've done enough," I told her, then realized I was not a part of this household any more (as if I had ever been) and added, "I mean, if Freddie needed you to do something extra, he probably would have let you know somehow."

"I simply assumed since you were here, he'd have you tell me or something," she replied. "But if not, that's splendid."

While she spoke, the phone began to ring. And for the briefest of moments I forgot that Freddie and I were currently arch-enemies. Setting Oscar on the floor, I walked over and answered it. As soon as I lifted the receiver to my ear, I remembered, and almost hung up, but the man on the other end spoke too quickly.

"Babe, was that you?" His lack of an English accent threw me. I didn't know what to say. Still, he went on, not waiting for an answer. "The phone kept ringing, I was in the john, sorry, was that you?"

I froze and remained utterly silent.

"Freddie, are you there?"

I blinked. And why I did this, I'll never know, but I cleared my throat, covered the mouthpiece and replied bouncily, Freddie-style, "Oh, yes, yes, of course, darling, I'm right here."

"Was that you who called?" he asked.

_Oh, great, he thinks I'm Freddie. God, what a hole I'm standing in._

I proceeded to make that hole bigger by keeping up the act. "Perhaps," I cooed, twirling my finger around the phone cord.

"So what's so important? I got a few things to do today, but if you need me, you know I'll gladly-"

"Oh, no, darling, it's not that important," I said, waving my hand dismissively even though this New Yorker-sounding fellow couldn't see me. To mimic Freddie's voice, you have to put your whole body into it- hands, hips, face, everything. And listening to Freddie speak for eleven days meant I had his satiny voice down pretty pat, not to mention our voices were situated at similar ranges, and I had loved to imitate his fancy cadence way back in 2017 B.T.R. (Before T-Rod).

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! If you've got a few errands to run and things, then don't worry your pretty little head about me, I, er- just wanted to check on you, darling, haven't seen you in a while."

"We had dinner a couple of nights ago," he said.

"And that's far too long a time to not see you, my darling!" I crooned. But on the inside, I panicked. _Two nights ago, he ate at Joe Fanelli's place. That's Liza! Sweet Jesus, I'm talking to LIZA!_

"Well, you know, I'm free this evening, why don't I stop by tonight and we can do what we do best-"

"Oh, Liza, darling, I-uh, I'd love to, but, um- I know you're lonely, and I hope you'll be all right, but me and the boys are playing- all night," I stammered, resorting to Kiss lyrics because they were the first things that came to mind that made any sense. __TMI, Joe. WTMI.__

"Again?" he complained. "All these all-nighters, it's like you're avoiding me."

_So is that what Freddie's told him has been going on?_ "Of course not-"

"And then the other night, you tell me you're just not in the mood- and I mean, that _really_ didn't sound like you-"

"Ah, no, I imagine not," I mused, more to myself than to Joe.

"Are you feeling well?"

"Oh, smashing. And you?"

"Then w- Hey. Is it David?"

"Joe, darling, really! Now listen to me. I'll, um- how's this. This coming, uh, Friday, I'll make it all up to you _,_ all right? Hopefully, we can get together before then, but things have just been so- hectic, I can't even explain to you how hectic..."

I trailed off, waiting anxiously for his response. _Please eat it, Joe. Eat it! Put it in your mouth, chew it, savor it, swallow it! Come on, baby!_

"Okay," he sighed at last. "I just miss you."

"And I miss you too, darling," I crooned, drumming my fingers against the counter. I needed to wrap it up, I had to be on my way. "Now, Joe, I've got to be heading off, I'll see you then, most definitely, all right?"

"All right, sweetie."

I winced, then muttered, "Bye."

I almost laid the phone down when Joe said, "No kiss?"

Biting my tongue, I pressed my lips to the receiver end and made a loud smooching sound. Then I hung up and took a deep breath. "Oy vey. That was close. Maybe one too many darlings, but who c-"

I stopped mid-sentence. Suddenly the big picture flashed before my eyes.

Freddie had called Joe because he needed a favor. Joe was a fantastic cook at least- at most, a full-blown chef. And since I had flown the coop, he needed Joe to fill in for me. Who knows how long he had been playing phone tag- and I just ruined everything by telling Joe it was nothing to worry about!

I had to return the call, explain everything to Mr. Fanelli- except I didn't know his phone number. What was more, I didn't want to ransack Freddie's neat, company-ready apartment for something as small as a phone book. And Joe would be out running errands for at least the rest of the afternoon, so I couldn't reach him any more than Freddie could!

"So he's having a dinner party, but without the dinner," I said aloud. "At this rate, Freddie may have to call it off, because he's not going to do it- and no sane person would ever eat anything Freddie prepared anyway."

What about Ms. Cottage?

My hopes rose, then faltered, in a single breath. What about her, indeed. She had walked out the door, supplies in hand, while I pretended to be Freddie over the phone. As of right this moment, Freddie was out of luck. And the blame was all mine. I stood accused, my verdict, guilty- my crime, unintentional sabotage.

I tried not to care. _Ah well. Not my problem. That's life sometimes._

But no matter how I spun it, I kept coming back to the same conclusion: I had to stay and fix this. While I may not have been responsible for the reason I left in the first place, I couldn't just leave him hanging, especially after I'd exhausted all his Plan Bs, Cs, and et cetera, in one fell swoop. The whole first idea involved me cooking anyway. I'd simply be following through with what I had originally agreed to do.

_I can't. It's too much of a risk_ , I said to myself, picking up my stuff. I took one step toward the front door, but I walked no further.

I sighed in defeat. Despite last night, I didn't want Freddie to fail. And I certainly didn't want to set him up to fail. On the contrary. I wanted to help him. My injured heart, it seemed, still had not received the memo.

Not to say I was giving myself back over to him. Far from it. I made up my mind to cook, set up the meal, and do the best damn job I could to act as the server or whatever he needed me to do, from a solely business perspective. But as soon as everyone was gone, I was taking my backpack and leaving for 'Murica.

It was the most honorable choice- but also the most dangerous. How would Freddie behave toward me? He might see it as some subtle means to get back in his good graces. Would he be smug? Indifferent? Gloating? Would he reject my efforts altogether? Though I had not forgotten Rudy's words, I told myself to expect the worst. I could take nothing for granted anymore.

_Who even cares,_ I shrugged to myself. _What do I really have to lose at this point? Let him be a jerk, let him be cold. I can be just as icy as he. Butter won't even melt in my mouth tonight. Once my job is done, I shall vamoose- and we shall be no more. Not that "we" ever really existed._

It was almost one now, and Freddie's guests would start arriving by four forty-five to five o'clock. By six the food had to be ready to go. There was not a moment to waste. I brushed imaginary dust off my hands and got to work.

***************************************************************************************

There's nothing like getting busy and being productive, to get one's mind off their personal troubles. It was only half past two, and already I was up to my elbows in cooking. The bread dough was rising in the oven, the rose veal marinating in the fridge. In about another hour I would began to braise it, slather it with a wine cream sauce, and serve it with linguine pasta this evening. It was the only veal recipe I knew by heart- the only veal recipe I knew at all, in fact- but it was a good one. Even Freddie had said it sounded scrumptious when we were on the plane, planning all this out.

I still had the salad to toss, and the little appetizer tray to arrange. Right now I was working on dessert. I had my earbuds half in, half out, leaving one ear listening for any telltale closing doors or footsteps. At least, it should have been. But I was having way too much fun bopping around the kitchen, doing this or that, with "I Am a Rock" playing into my ear. It was just a Simon and Garfunkel kind of situation. Please don't even ask me now what that means, but to me, back then, it made perfect sense.

The song changed to a Simon solo track, one that was much more up-tempo and much, much saucier- "Late in the Evening." I sang along as I pulled the risen loaves out of the oven to make room for the dessert I was baking. Funny, but I don't remember what the dessert was. I didn't have any.

And then I heard the door close. I felt my heart slip from my chest cavity and splatter right onto the floor. Quickly I clammed up. And then, a soft, tepid murmuring. So Freddie wasn't alone. Good! I wouldn't have to face him by myself.

The footsteps suddenly became much more brisk, drew closer to the kitchen. I kept my back straight, whistling to the melody, refusing to let him throw me off. _Come for me, man! Do your worst!_

But the voice I heard behind me was not Freddie's.

"Oh, it's- her."

I whirled. There stood Mary, cradling a couple of flower bouquets in her arms. I forced myself not to look surprised. With a wide, showy grin, I waved, but inwardly I snarked, _Mary, could you please sound just a little more disappointed? I mean, that was good, but see if you can really convince me-_

Within seconds another pair of feet rushed toward the kitchen, and as if by magic the selfsame man from whom I had run appeared, a bottle of -you guessed it- Moet & Chandon in each hand.

I didn't see his expression, because I couldn't look at it. Freddie's presence alone was a punch to the stomach. As soon as he came into view, I looked directly at Mary and spoke as though I addressed only her. For I could not look at his face. I didn't want to learn the hard way how weak I really was- how captive, was my very soul. That was set to happen later tonight anyway, unbeknownst to me.

"Hey, kids!" I chirped. "I was wondering when you two would make an appearance _._ Step into my office! I hope you like braised veal, Mary."

"So," Mary said slowly, "you're- cooking for us tonight?"

"Oh, yes," I crooned. "You and the others, of course."

She frowned. "But I- I thought that- Freddie, didn't you say that friend of yours would- I mean, Eve, you didn't really have to go to all this trouble-"

"Oh, don't be silly, I was glad to," I assured her. "What lovely roses! Are those for the table?"

"Um, yes," she said, with a sidelong glance at Freddie. "I think I'll put these in some water, actually- dear, is there anything I can help you with? I mean, there must be something I can do."

Mary didn't like me, but she still had a servant's heart. If she wanted to help, I decided I would let her. It was Freddie I was feuding with, after all, not she. "Well, I still need to start the sauce for the veal, but if you want to get the appetizer type thing situated, maybe the salad-"

"I'm on it," she announced, "just as soon as I put these in a vase."

She disappeared around the corner, off to find a suitable vessel to hold the white roses. Freddie hadn't moved a muscle, still clenching the necks of the champagne bottles. I turned around, still not so much as favoring him with a glance.

"Can I just say," I remarked over my shoulder, "you two make the cutest couple ever. Like light and dark, you complement each other so nicely."

I received no response. As the seconds ticked by, even Paul Simon and the Latin salsa beat of the music couldn't ease the tension. At last I turned around and looked at his collar; it took all my strength not to meet his eyes.

"Oh, sir," I sighed, "you're getting the champagne all warm just holding it like that. Here, let me, I'll put it on some ice."

So I held out my hands, waited for him to put the bottles into them.

That's when he spoke in a strange, strained voice.

"What are you doing?"

My heart started pounding, but outwardly I frowned, pretended to be oblivious. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear-"

"Then take those f---ing things out of your ears," he hissed.

I did so. "It was just the one-"

"What are you doing?" he said again.

"I'm- cooking," I replied. "Like I said I would. Don't worry, I'm not staying, I've mooched off of you long enough."

"I thought you were gone."

"I am. Mentally, and spiritually, I am so gone. And once the party's over, I will physically be gone as well."

"Why did you come back?"

"Hey, man, if you want me to vanish now, I can-"

"Did I say that?"

"No."

"Then don't f---ing put words in my mouth. I asked a simple question. Why are you here?"

"I agreed to. Cook, I mean, and I didn't want to leave you hanging. Honor's a bitch, I swear." I grinned, feeling my back teeth grind together in mute frustration. "May I have the champagne, please?"

At last, he handed me the bubbly wine, which I put in the fridge. "Now, where are the wine buckets, sir? Do you have one?"

"There's one in the back," he murmured.

"Cool. I'll go get it."

So I went into the "back"- basically the laundry room with a few shelves where dishes and accoutrements that didn't really have a place in the kitchen were stacked. On the very top shelf, rising well above my head, sat a gleaming silver bucket. I stretched up my arm, but the bucket was just the tiniest bit out of reach. I jumped up, thinking that would help somehow, but I couldn't get a grip on it.

With a sigh, I looked at the shelves, pondering whether they were too flimsy to support me. To be on the safe side, I decided they were. One last time, I ducked down, bending my knees, and leapt. But yet again, I missed.

That's when someone put a large hand on my shoulder and stood beside me. My skin prickled and broke out in gooseflesh. It startled me; I didn't remember his mere nearness causing this kind of reaction. Walking up to the shelf, Freddie reached up, slid his fingers under the down-turned brim of the bucket, and pulled it forward. When it had come forth enough, Freddie took it in his hands and brought it down.

"Thank you," I mumbled. But when I moved to take it from him, he simply stood there, arms wrapped tightly round it.

"Thank you," I said again, louder. I glanced up at Freddie, exasperated. All he did was stare back. There were so many emotions circulating within those dark eyes that I didn't know how to classify this look in any other way except "scary."

"Ah," he murmured at last. " _There_ they are."

"What are?" I asked.

He whispered, "Your eyes."

At that moment Mary walked past, a glass vase in her hands. It woke me up to reality, and I realized how silly this was, Freddie and I just standing here staring at each other in the laundry room. Not even touching, just staring.

I snorted, eyes drifting away from his. "Sir, would you please hand me the bucket so I can put some ice in it so you don't have to drink warm champagne later?"

Finally, he complied, and I fluttered away. I didn't have to put ice in the bucket yet, not for another two hours at least. I just needed an excuse to get out of there.

"So helpless," I heard him remark behind me.

For a moment I stopped, almost turned around and popped back. But I had to keep my emotions reined in tonight. I just worked here. I couldn't let him prod an explosion of any sort out of me- even if it meant he squeezed in the last word every time.

_Let's make a game of it,_ I told myself as I walked away. _Let's see how long we both can go without blowing our covers. I'll wear my mask, he'll wear his. Who can keep it together longest? The Joker versus Harley Quinn. Yes, sir, should be one heck of a showdown._

I rubbed my hands together. Let the fun and games begin.

 


	61. A Beautiful Disaster

By about four, we had pretty much everything ready.  I put the bread in the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes.  That was just enough time to freshen up for the guests.  For I still looked quite a fright, from my frizzy hair to my pale, makeup-free face. 

"If anyone needs me," I called, "I'll be upstairs."

I didn't wait for a response from Freddie and Mary, because I knew none would come.  Working alongside Mary in the kitchen attested to that; every time I addressed her, especially when Freddie was somewhere nearby, she seemed loath to reply.  And in all fairness, I wasn't much better.  We were civil, of course, but that discussion we shared yesterday had done nothing to improve the tone of our interactions.  If anything, it only strained them further.  

I was counting the minutes until the first guests arrived.  Of the eight Freddie had invited, seven accepted; John Reid was too busy that evening. I remembered a few names from the addresses I had written on the envelopes a week ago.  Peter and Paul were coming, and some girl named Zelda.  And there was a Robert in there somewhere (I think that was the guy who kept taking pictures, so whenever I refer to the photographer later, I'm just going to call him Bob).  I didn't even care who came first, as long as they came quickly.  I felt like the fifth wheel, even more useless and unloved than a third- because even tricycles need a third wheel.  What in the world needs five?

The roses now stood in the center of the dining room table, which Freddie had painstakingly set while we girls slaved away in the kitchen.  _Looks nice_ , I remarked to myself, walking past.  _He's always been one for presentation._

I was about halfway up the stairs when Freddie emerged from his bedroom, dressed in dark trousers and some white t-shirt with a low-cut collar, and started gliding down.  Immediately I turned my head from him.  Not only because I didn't want to make eye contact; but he had put on some cologne, which was made even more alluring when combined with his natural licorice scent. 

"Where do you think you're going?" he muttered when we had met on the same step.

"Upstairs," I replied, eyes focused on the top floor.  And all I could think was, _Why can't he keep walking and let me be.  He smells too good.  I can't help it, he just does.  God help me.  When did I become so susceptible to my senses?_

"To do what?"

"I was going to sort of clean up, if that's all right with you," I whispered.  "May I please use your bathroom to do that?  I don't want to, um, mess up the other one."

"Oh, yes, please do.  You're hardly presentable at the moment."

_Zing._

"Speak for yourself," I replied softly.

I could hear the smirk in his voice.  "Oh, really?"

"Really."  I blinked.  "Your fly's undone."

Through my peripheral I saw him check- which I found very, very satisfying.  It was juvenile, but it worked- and I didn't give him time for another sardonic (and potentially lewd) comeback.  I chuckled softly as I continued walking up the stairs.  Despite the odds, I won that one, hands down.  _It's the little things in life.  
_

So I went into the picture-perfect green bedroom, pulled a change of clothes out of the closet, and disappeared into Freddie's shower.  After indulging myself for five minutes, I leapt out, aimed the blow dryer at my head, half-wished it was a .38, and pulled the trigger.  Mascara, lipstick, one final drag of the hairbrush.  I looked myself over. 

With my wild, wavy hair, loose grey blouse, and indigo peasant skirt, I resembled a gypsy, or a glorified sixties hippie.  I just needed bangles and a flower wreath for my head.  But a gypsy is better than a prostitute, and that's how I looked last time I sat in front of this mirror. 

_And if Freddie doesn't like it, that's too bad, I'll be in the kitchen the whole time anyhow, except when I have to serve._

Before I walked out of his bedroom, however, I noticed something small and shining on his nightstand.  In spite of myself I drew closer.  It was the Vegas ring he had pulled off almost as soon as it had settled round his finger.  _Ah, that reminds me, before I go I'd better sign those papers._

I picked it up and inspected it.  Just for fun I tried to see if it would fit on my hand.  But the only finger it didn't slide off of was my thumb.  So now I had a "wedding" ring on my left hand, and a thumb ring on my right.  I liked the looks of them, and Freddie obviously didn't care about his ring, so I wore it the rest of the night.

The door bell rang as I was coming back down. Freddie rushed over to answer it, and was greeted with a booming "Did I miss any of the havoc-wreaking?"

Despite the fact that the time clearly stated on the invitation was four forty-five, the one and only Peter Straker had showed up on Freddie's doorstep a whole half hour early.  But Freddie didn't mind.  He let him in, the two of them cracking up about something.

I came further downstairs to say hi.  Peter saw me, and broke into a wide, welcoming grin.  "Ah, there's my partner in crime!  How goes it?"

I laughed, glad for a friendly face.  "Well enough, Hattie," I replied. 

"What are you still doing here?" he asked lightly.  "What have you done with your Eski-"

"SHHH!" I hissed, waving my hands around.  Mary was only ten feet away.  She glanced up a moment, then turned away again.

Peter nodded knowingly and winked.  "Mum's the word, my dear Harley," he whispered.

Freddie looked confused, then rolled his eyes, pointing Straker toward the booze.  _Aw, he feels left out.  What a pity._

He didn't feel that way for much longer as I went back into the kitchen, and the fellas began to chatter on with Mary and between themselves.  The bread had browned beautifully with a crispy crust; I pulled it out and set it on the counter to cool before slicing it up and putting it in the big bowl Freddie had left out for that express purpose.

Once four-forty-five struck, people started trickling in at a fairly steady rate.  Zelda arrived with her boyfriend, whose hands I absently shook to be polite when they wandered into the kitchen at some point in time.   Paul Prenter came next.  At first he wore that same glum resignation when he saw me, but once he'd caught on to Freddie's and my situation (as it was pretty darn obvious, you could not miss feeling the frost whenever our eyes would accidentally meet), he visibly relaxed and began to enjoy himself.  One other man whose name I again have forgotten knocked on the door shortly after Paul, and Bob appeared around half-past five, camera locked and loaded. 

Even for a photographer, Bob was especially trigger-happy.  As if to make up for lost time, coming around so late, he whipped out his Pentax camera and took pictures of everything, once following Freddie and Mary into the kitchen to snap them grabbing things to put finishing touches upon the table before everyone sat down.  Another time, he squatted down to capture the image of Freddie sitting on the floor, showing Zelda his drawings and costume sketches, for posterity.  Luckily, you won't see any of me; every time I saw Bob coming, I fled, ducking just out of the camera's scope.

"What excellent hors d'oeuvres!" I heard Straker call to me once.  "Eves, did you make these?"

I walked a little ways out of the kitchen and opened my mouth.  But before I could answer, Freddie cut in, "No, Mary did."

She shrugged, took a drag off her cigarette.  "It's just a little thing my mother taught me to make.  You see, it was actually a recipe that she..."

Wordlessly I turned on my heel, marched back to my fortress of solitude- also known as the kitchen.  I think throughout the entire cocktail hour, that's the only time anyone addressed me personally.

In all honesty, I missed most of what happened during the actual meal.  Once everyone was seated, I only came out among the party to serve the courses.  Freddie had a little bell by his glass of wine which he rang whenever it was time to bring out the next course.  None of this was foreign to me; before the experiment, I had worked part-time at a fairly expensive (not fancy, exactly, but expensive) restaurant that used the multiple course procedure. 

That little exchange we had on the stairs must have embarrassed Freddie more than I thought.  When Freddie felt embarrassed or threatened, he became waspish.  And now, he seemed to be going out of his way to be snide.  Since I was essentially the hired help, meant to be seen and not heard, I couldn't respond the way I wished without looking insubordinate.  So he racked up quite a score over the next two hours or so.  Nothing too damaging, of course, just tart little jabs that seemed quite harmless to everyone else present- but grew progressively sharper when I didn't react the way he wanted, which was every time.

While I was serving the plates of veal and pasta, I accidentally came around and served from the wrong side of Freddie.  Indiscreetly, he said, "Left side."

"Oh, sorry," I whispered, then walked around to the other side of him and laid down the plate. 

As I turned my back, I heard Paul sigh, "It's so hard to find good help these days."

And Freddie replied, "Tell me about it."

_ZING._

Or when Peter raised his glass for a toast "To friends, fame, fortune, and frivolity!"

After the proverbial "Cheers!" and sip, Freddie added another of his own, saying in a voice I could hear clearly from the kitchen, "And especially to every dear friend sitting here with me at this table, you all mean so much to me."

"Cheers!"  _Sip._

In other words, "Screw you, Julia.  You aren't at the table.  Heh heh heh."  At least, that's how I took it.

Though keeping it together became more and more of a strain, I only bit my lips and breathed.  _Control.  Just a couple more hours and we're out of here._

I was clearing plates by this point, getting the table ready for dessert, so I was coming in and out with my hands full.  I took Zelda's boyfriend's cleaned plate from him, and his silverware.

"Did you make all this, Ms. Dubroc?" he asked abruptly.

I blinked, looking at him.  "Uh, yes, I made the veal and stuff.  But Mary made the salad-"

"Why, you're a Yank!" Zelda exclaimed. 

"Yeah, I guess I am," I replied.

"Well, everything was terrific," her boyfriend told me.  "Usually I'm rather off and on about veal, but that recipe you used- just brilliant."

"Indeed," chimed in the other man, apparently named James (that was my understanding; I had heard that name tossed around, and he would always speak after it was said).  He patted my hand.  "Freddie's lucky to have you."

I smiled thinly. _Empty words.  But hey, at least I'm not being treated like a pariah._   "You're very kind.  Mary made a really great salad, and Freddie's even more lucky to have _her_ \- but thanks. Are you finished with that plate?"

"I am.  Oh, now I'm intrigued!"  James turned to Freddie.  "How does a Yank fall in with you anyhow?"

Freddie answered, voice lukewarm, "Like you said.  Stroke of luck."

"Notice he doesn't say what _kind_ of luck," I quipped, making sure to punctuate this with a wink so nobody would think I meant it. 

Naturally my eyes drifted to Freddie, whose fingers were drumming slowly against the table, his eyes down.  I took that to mean I was interfering again, wasting his precious time.  So I cleared my throat, picked up James's plate, and walked away again as the guests snickered.

Putting the dishes in the sink, I brought down a few small dessert plates.  Humming to myself, I finished off a glass of water, then turned around to put it in a dishwasher that I thought was open right next to me.  But it wasn't, and my grip on the glass had loosened just enough so that it slipped from my hand and splashed all across the kitchen floor.

The dining room hushed again.  "Everything okay?" someone called. 

"Yeah, we're good, sorry."  But inside, I panicked.  _Freddie, it was an accident, please don't kill me, it was just one glass, I'm really sorry, don't kill me please!  
_

This was one time when I wished I wasn't barefoot.For the broken glass was strewn everywhere in jagged, evil pieces.  And the broom was directly across from the scene of the crime, in the back.I had two options: climb up onto the counter and edge carefully around the mess, potentially making a fool out of myself should anyone walk in and catch me; or go full-on John McClane and walk across the broken glass, tearing my feet to shreds and getting blood all over the floor, because "Yippee ki-yay, motherf----r." _  
_

I hoisted myself onto the counter, about to put my bare, vulnerable feet up on it when someone walked into the kitchen.

"Watch out, I broke something-" I warned automatically.  Then I looked up and saw it was Freddie standing there, taking in the scene.  My eyes widened.

"It was an accident, sir," I explained.  "It slipped from my hand, cross my heart-"

Suddenly he turned from me and disappeared into the back.  When Freddie came out, he held the broom and dustpan in his hands.  Before I could protest, he set the dustpan down and started sweeping.

"Hey, no, I've got this, please," I said, sliding my feet back down toward the tile floor.  "May I see the-"

Freddie slammed the bristles up against the cabinet, blocking me.  "Stop.  You'll split your foot wide open.  Two seconds."

"Aw man.  Supposing I wanted to reenact a scene from _Die Hard_?" I murmured.

He ignored me, instead focused on brushing the glass shards away from my feet.  But even after I had a safe space to stand, he kept sweeping and wouldn't let me take the broom from him.  In less than a minute, Freddie had scooped up the broken glass into the pan and thrown it into the dustbin.  Then he leaned the broom against the counter. 

I lifted myself onto my hands to hop down.  It was then that Freddie strode back toward me and without warning put his arms around my waist. 

"Knowing you, you'll find that one last bit of glass and lodge it in your toe," he muttered.  "I'll set you down."

"Thank you, but I can take it from here," I whispered, and tried not to acknowledge the thought that went through my head: _Interesting.  I'm at just the right level so that I could wrap my legs around his waist and he could just carry me around that way..._

"Mm." Keeping his arms where they were, Freddie hoisted me off the counter and carefully placed me back on my feet.

"And that," he informed me, "is why civilized people wear shoes."

I still wouldn't look at him as I quipped, "But sir, I'm not civilized."

"Neither am I, but we- I at least ought to let them think I am," he replied.

"Oh, okay.  Thank you for cleaning up the glass."

"Not at all."

Freddie still had his arms around me, and he was standing uncomfortably close.  But both our voices were cold and impersonal, dripping with sarcasm- it didn't fit our body language at all.  The beat of my heart involuntarily began to quicken.  _Let go of me, you're just trying to mess me up.  You're already winning in the score department, this isn't necessary.  
_

"You can let go now," I said finally.

"Thanks," he said.  "I appreciate you, um, telling me something I actually already knew."

"They're waiting for you."

"Yeah."

"And you're ignoring them."  _You smell so nice, dammit, let go!_

Freddie didn't move.  He was staring at me again, and my gaze was trained on some random spot over his shoulder. 

I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but he seemed to pull me closer.  "I need to talk to you."

"No. You need to let go of me."

"Why?"

"Because Mary's standing right behind you-"

Like a charm, Freddie disengaged his arms and whirled.  There was nobody there, of course, but it had made him step three feet away.  That was satisfactory.  The look he favored me with as he turned back was enough to freeze fire.

I cleared my throat.  "I forget, sir, did you say you wanted dessert?"

His lips twitched over his teeth, then pursed.  Without another word, fists clenched, he stormed out of the kitchen.  I knew what that meant: we were tied again.

I smiled to myself.  _Good thing he's so self-conscious, or else the "Made you look" stuff wouldn't work.  So all I have to do is embarrass him in front of Mary.  Very interesting.  I think I'll file that away._

I looked down at my hands to see they were shaking as they served up three or four plates of dessert.I swallowed and took a deep breath.  In spite of my outward strength, I knew I was on borrowed time.  The last few seconds had weakened me a great deal.

_Just a couple more hours.  I can keep it together that long, can't I?  
_

***************************************************************************************

A yawn rose up in the back of my throat.  Quickly I covered it with a rubber gloved hand, getting my face all wet in the process. 

It was almost ten o'clock, and I was just finishing doing the dishes.  Nobody had left yet.  Not even Bob.  They had all drifted into the parlor, just chatting and laughing away.  A few were drinking tea, some were sticking to wine.  But Freddie's voice, strangely, I heard less than anyone else's. 

Someone had put on a Beatles record for a little atmospheric music while they talked.  It was nice of them, it gave me something to sing softly to while I cleaned up the kitchen.  It was the White Album, I believe, side B of the first disc- my favorite, with most of the best Beatles songs ever, like "Rocky Raccoon," "Martha My Dear," and "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" (Just kidding, that last one.  Talk about filler.)  The penultimate song played now: "I Will."

Peter was holding court when I at last came out to sit with everyone.  "...Feel pretty good about it, actually," he said.

"Good about what?" I asked.  Everyone but Freddie looked my way.

"Ah!  Join the party, Harley, I missed you!" Peter crooned. 

Smiling, I walked in and sat cross-legged on the floor; all the sofas and chairs were occupied.  Paul seemed to move closer to Freddie, who was perched next to him.  Bob lifted his camera to take another picture.  He pushed the button, but all it made was a hollow click.

"Damn!" he muttered.  "I knew I should have brought an extra film."

"You were saying, Hattie dear?" I repeated, feeling relieved.

"Oh, my audition yesterday.  There's a new musical hitting West End in the fall, and I tried out."

"What kind of part is it?" Zelda asked.

"Oh, naturally, it's the role of a dashing, misunderstood revolutionary set in the Victorian age, who has his way with all the women and bamboozles anyone who tries to arrest him for his untoward manner."

I blinked.  "You auditioned for Jack the Ripper?"

He burst out in a cackling fit.  Although not the most wonderful laugh, it was none the less contagious.  We all followed suit _,_ aside of Freddie and Paul, who sort of smiled half-heartedly.  _  
_

"Close, very close, but not quite," Straker snickered.  "Minus the whole murder thing, you know.  But everything else... yeah.I had to sing a song for them, and I do believe they were quite blown away." _  
_

"Did they give you any feedback?"

It was right here that "I Will" ended, and the last song on Side B began to play:

_Half of what I say is meaningless-_

Freddie's head popped up.  "Would someone please change the record?" _  
_

"I'll do it," Mary offered, slowly rising to her feet.  _  
_

_But I say it just to reach you,_

_Julia..._

"Quickly, please?" he said, sounding less cool than before. _  
_

_Julia, Julia,_

_Ocean child,_

_Calls me,_

_So I sing the song of lo-_

The needle popped as she lifted it.But Freddie didn't seem to relax once the music had ended; his hands suddenly couldn't be still. If anything, he was even more uneased. _What's eating him?  My God, am I winning?  
_

"Sorry," Freddie said, shrugging it off.  "I've just had that song stuck in my head all day.  It's a dreadful earworm."

I lowered my eyes and stifled a triumphant little smile. 

"Anyway, as I was saying," Peter continued, "they didn't say too much, except that they thought I sounded like a black Joni Mitchell.  I mean I think that's quite good myself-"

That made Freddie laugh like he meant it.  I didn't realize how much I'd missed that sound.  My blood rose into my face and heat my cheeks.  I hoped no one noticed.

"What?"  Peter asked, sipping his champagne.  "You don't believe me?"

"Black Joni Mitchell," Freddie repeated.  "You know, I never really thought about it like that-"

"Well, _I_ didn't say it, they did," he said, putting his nose playfully in the air.  "And West Enders must know."

"Prove it," Freddie challenged him with a smile.

And Peter could never resist a challenge.  He set his glass on the coffee table and clapped his hands.  "Right!  Where's the guitar?"

"Upstairs," Freddie said.  "I'll be right back."  He rose from the sofa and hustled up the steps.

"I didn't know you played," Paul remarked to Peter after a moment.

"I can't," Straker chuckled.  "Someone else is going to have to do it."

Freddie reappeared with the acoustic in his hand.  Peter turned to him and said, "Hey, Freddie-"

"No indeed," he replied.  "I can't play for nuts."

"Rubbish.  I've heard you, seen you!"

"Three chords over and over again doesn't count."

Peter sighed.  "Anyone else?"

Most everyone shook their heads, when Freddie nodded my way.  "She can."

My eyes widened.  "Huh?"

"Perfect!" Peter trilled, taking the guitar from Freddie and putting it in my lap.  Paul ground his teeth as he watched.  Anxiety flooded me.  Play guitar in front of all these people I barely knew?  I wasn't much better than Freddie!

"I won't be any good," I protested, "I have a sprained finger-"

"Excuses, excuses.  Do you know any Joni Mitchell on guitar?"

"The only one I know how to play is 'Big Yellow Taxi,' which is only three chords, coincidentally, so Freddie, you could-"

"Hey, that's brilliant!  Come along, Harley, let's show them."  To back him up, everyone (including Mary) clapped encouragingly and spouted little You-can-do-it pep phrases.  Freddie simply sat back and folded his arms, quietly looking on, face unreadable.

Peter's enthusiasm couldn't be quelled.  I sighed and nodded.  "But I'm warning you, I'll make a whole bunch of flubs-"

"Who cares?  We're all friends here.  Really, Harley, you have nothing to worry about."

With that, Peter came sat down on the carpet next to me.  "Our version or Joni's, Hattie?"

"Ours, of course."

"Right on." I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and started strumming.

"Our" version of "Big Yellow Taxi" had come about in Vegas.  It was just before the license escapade.  While taking a cab ride, I had spontaneously begun singing the Counting Crows rendition, which I personally preferred to Joni's.  I'd just won a little money, and I was feeling sublime.  So was Peter, so I basically wound up teaching him the newer version.  "Our" version was a mashup of the two: in Joni's key, tempo, and tone, but with a more syncopated rhythm and a shortened Counting Crows outro.

"Don't it always seem to go," he sang in that piercing, warbly falsetto, "that you don't know what you got till it's gone/ They paved paradise and put up a parkin' lot..."

I sang backup on the "Ooo bop bop bops" and harmonized with him here and there.  And I must admit, the West End stage people knew what they were talking about.  I smiled genuinely.  This felt so good, even with the sprained finger giving me the occasional twinge every time I had to move it.  I was still afraid I'd screw up somewhere on the chords, but after forty-eight hellish hours, I was having fun again.  _I'm going to miss Peter.  He's cuckoo, but a good kind of cuckoo._

Through the whole song, I refused to look at Freddie.  He was doing me the same favor; out of the corner of my eye I could see him smiling solely at his friend.  Fortunately, the song, even "our" rendition of it, wasn't too long, and we finished it with minimal mistakes.  I breathed deeply, nodding as our audience cheered and applauded.

Peter stood and bowed.  "Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case."  To me he said, "Harley, that was wonderful, thank you."

"My pleasure," I replied.

"Why don't you sing us a little something?" James asked suddenly. 

My stomach turned.  I shot him a meek little glance.  "What?"

"You sounded rather nice on those harmonies," he remarked.  "Let's hear you solo it."

"Wh- what for?"

"I'm curious."

"Oh, she's got a lovely set of pipes," Straker crooned.  "I've heard her."

"Come on, Ms. Dub-"

"Please, call me Eve."

"Eve, do sing for us."

Peter chimed in, "James here's a talent scout for Elektra.  Come on!"

"I'm an amateur, James," I whispered.  "I haven't got the chops."

"Prove it."

It was Freddie who said this.  I looked at him, searching for any kind of motive, but the mask was firmly applied once more.  Mary shot him a glance as well, but it was the same blank look as any other time. 

_Why is he putting me on the spot?  Maybe he's trying to embarrass ME now, make me as uncomfortable as humanly possible.  Quid pro quo.  That's how we roll, I guess.  No matter.  If I'm going down, I'm going down swinging.  Freddie, once again, challenge accepted._

So I lifted my chin and nodded.  "So what do you guys want to hear?"

"Play us one of your songs, darling," Freddie said.  "Something none of us have heard before."

"Yes," James agreed.  "Capital."

"Happy or sad song?"

"Sad, of course," Straker laughed.  "I haven't had a good cry in weeks.  I long to be sufficiently deflated!"

"Oh, okay.  So sad, new song."  My hands were shaking, the adrenaline rush blocking proper thought.  Now I was facing these people alone- for Peter was perched on the sofa again, hands folded in expectation.  They all stared at me, waiting for the music.  As if it would make them all simply vanish, I shut my eyes. 

And then, I knew what to sing.  I saw it all so clearly.  There was no other song I could conceivably sing right here, right now.  It was perfect.

I took the capo off the top and adjusted it upon the neck's first fret.  "Okay, again, I'm warning you, I screw up a lot.  So bear with me."  I cleared my throat, and made up an explanation to my polite audience, "Um... I didn't write this, but... there's a guy I used to be curious about, I found him really confusing- and then one fine day, I really started to learn about him, and- he's still confusing, but- I think this song really sums up who he is, and how I see him now... so... yeah..."

_Just play, you idiot._

"It's called 'Beautiful Disaster'... hope you like it."

I closed my eyes and began, in a shaky, nervous voice.

(If you have not heard this song before, provided is as close a reproduction as possible of what went down that night.  I actually do fumble and make mistakes in this recording, but that's how it was then.  I'm no professional, as you can see.  If you have heard it, though, feel free to skip down to the story as it continues.)

"He drowns in his dreams/ An exquisite extreme, I know; he's as damned as he seems,/ with more heaven than a heart could hold-"

Suddenly I listened to the words, realized I was making a terrible mistake.  _Why am I making this so obvious?_   But I kept on.  "And if I try to save him, / My whole world would cave in/ It just ain't right,/ Lord it just ain't right...

"Oh, and I don't know/ don't know what he's after," I sang, keeping my eyes closed, I couldn't bring myself to look at them, "But he's so beautiful, / he's such a beautiful disaster..."

As the song progressed, I should have only grown more nervous, but my voice seemed to get stronger, more confident, like it was some kind of release that had been a long time in coming.  I felt a great weight lift off my back.  When the second chorus came around, at last I opened my eyes.  They were listening attentively, their smiles denoting they were enjoying the song.  Paul and Mary looked the other way, back at Freddie, who was watching me- but with what kind of look, I refused to find out.

"I'm longing for love and the logical/ but he's only happy hysterical-"

Something about that line hit me harder than the ones before it.  It was as though a hand had reached into me, seized my heart, and clenched it tightly.  And I began to think, at last, _Is this really how I feel for him?  I know that's what I said, but- is it?_

"He's soft to the touch," I sang, slower now, somehow able to hold the melody while my soul writhed fitfully within me, "but frayed at the ends, he breaks.  /He's never enough...  And still he's more than I can take..."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. 

Freddie's eyes were wide, his face pale, brows wrinkling his forehead.  And for a moment or two, we stared this way, wordlessly.  This went against everything I had told him was true.  He knew who I was singing about.  And so did anyone else with ears, eyes, and a brain.  The air thickened so, it was amazing we were all still able to breathe.

"Oh and I don't know," I began again, "Don't know what you're after-"

Too late I heard what I had sung.  But I kept doing it: "But you're so beautiful/ you're such a beautiful disaster..."

My heart pounded like a fist.  I knew better though.  I wasn't fooled. Freddie was a monster. He was mean and unpredictable and rotten and cold... and lecherous... and hedonistic... and...

"He's beautiful," I at last ended the song, my voice softer now and shaking.  "God, he's so beautiful..."

After what seemed like forever, I played the last chord.  It was finished.  As if from far away I heard claps and Peter's excited whoops.  My eyes still hadn't left Freddie's.

"That was lovely!" James remarked.  "No tears though, I guess I'm a cold-blooded reptile.  The music business does that to you."

I just barely remembered to smile.  "Thanks," I whispered.  Suddenly I stood.  "Anybody else want to play?"

When no one volunteered, I nodded.  "Cool, I'll go put this up, then."

I stood there a moment, then walked toward the stairs.

"You can just put it over here," Freddie said softly.  "Someone may later."

"Oh," I managed.  "Right."

With wobbly legs I walked back over close to where Freddie was sitting, set the guitar down in the corner.  And I almost turned away again but I stopped, found myself trapped in his eyes as he gazed up at me.  That's when he too rose to his feet.  Everyone was watching us, but I couldn't feel their stares.  Only his. 

He was standing very close to me again.  For the first time today, I got a good look at his face.  Truth be told, he looked absolutely whipped.  There were dark circles under his eyes, I could see even under the makeup he was wearing to cover it up. The lines about his mouth seemed deeper.   And his cheeks looked sharper than normal, another sign of fatigue.  Rudy had after all said he didn't even go to sleep last night.  But his eyes still burned steadily into mine while my heart beat so fast it began to ache.

For the first time in my whole life, I noticed a little scar on his right cheek just below his eye.  I didn't know he had a scar there, it never occurred to me before.  Instinctively I lifted my hand to touch it.  And the dark eyes fluttered closed as he pushed his face against my hand, like a cat that arches its back when someone pets it.

And then it happened.  Because of that dumb little scar, it happened.  I heard the words in my head and I didn't even try to stop them, because I knew they were true:

_I love him._

My whole body went numb and my eyes shut.  They kept on repeating, growing louder as they continued. _I love him.  I love him.  I LOVE HIM._

I felt myself pulling his head down toward my lips.  I'd never kissed him before; he had always been the one to kiss me first.  In the back of my head I knew he would push me away- all his friends being here and all- but I didn't care.  I kissed him. 

What I didn't expect to happen, though, was the way his arms wrapped tightly around me, and the way his lips, after a single disbelieving second, started kissing mine.  Freddie and I had shared many a kiss before this, true.  But now, I felt it.  I didn't want to feel it, but I couldn't lie to myself anymore.  We seemed to melt into each other, lost in the moment, his arms holding me close, the "I'm so sorry" on his lips meeting the "I forgive you" upon mine.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced-

"Whoa," Peter whistled.

As any time before, he brought me back to Earth.  My eyes opened and I pulled away from Freddie, breathing deeply, as though I had been underwater for the last few minutes.  I looked around, my face flushing crimson, at Mary, at Paul, at James, the Zelda couple, Peter, and Bob.

I managed a little apologetic smile.  "Well," I whispered.

Freddie just looked at me, saying nothing.

A lump was forming in my throat.  Suddenly I felt terrible.  Now he knew.  There could be no question.  Standing there, kissing Freddie in front of God and everybody.  I had ruined everything. 

Because I could think of no other better idea, I broke from Freddie and ran up the stairs, leaving them in the awkward silence.  I closed the door to the green bedroom behind me, locking it.

The tears flowed.  I sat down on the floor, curled up into a ball, and just wept.  I hated this feeling already.  It was so all-consuming.  It had been there for some time, honestly, but only now had it been named, and, secure in its recognition, had gone full throttle.  I loved him.  I loved Freddie.  And everybody knew it.  What would they say?  What would HE say?

_I love a madman.  I don't want to.  He's so mean, so cold.  But I love him anyway.  And it'll never go, no matter how far I run.  Why me?  Oh, Dear Lord, God in heaven, WHY ME?_

 

 


	62. Birdman's Eye View: If You Love Someone...

_BRIIIING BRIIIING_

_BRIIIING BRII-_

_Click._

"Hello?"

"John."

"Yes?  Who's-"

"It's Freddie."

"Oh, hello!  How's-"

"Are you busy at the moment?"

"...No?"

"Then come quickly."  He sounds so strange.

"What's going on?"

"And bring the thing."

"Freddie, I don't unders-"

"Come now.  Please."

_Click_.

This ten second chat is all I have to go off of.  Just a few lines of dialogue between us- me nasal and confused, Freddie hoarse and melancholy.  But he said, "Bring the thing."  Bring the Relic.  

So Julia's back, it seems.  First impulse is to be glad- but under what circumstances has she returned?  He certainly didn't sound too pleased.  I suppose I'm about to find out.  Despite this being another precious free day from the studio, and how late it is (maybe Julia had something there when she called him a vampire- just kidding), I clamber into my car and head for Freddie's.  

I pull up to the curb and park carefully.  Freddie isn't alone; there's a couple of cars near his door.  He had mentioned something earlier about a get-together he was having.  With the Relic in hand, I hurry to Number Twelve.

I'm a few steps from the door when it opens, and that friend of our manager's steps out.  Prentiss, or Prenter, something like that, the one who just really hit it off with Freddie a couple of months ago.  The light over the stoop hits his face eerily.  I don't know what it is, but something about this fellow gives me the willies.

"Good evening," I say to be polite.

He doesn't respond, instead just grimaces at me and walks past.  Prenter doesn't seem to say anything, ever, unless it's to Freddie.  I'm not sure how I feel about that, though it's probably a good old-fashioned case of paranoia.  I consider Freddie a friend, and I hope all the best for him, but I feel he has his wits about him enough to make his own decisions.  It's not my place to be smothering about it anyway.

Prenter leaves the door a bit ajar.  So all I have to do is push the slab open a bit and walk in.  It's so quiet, for a party.  Then again, it is nearly one o'clock on a Tuesday night (or Wednesday morning), I imagine everyone must have drifted home by now.  One of his cats pads over to say hello.  I rub behind its ears for a minute, then I hear the voices. Freddie and a female, having a soft conversation.  Suddenly I recognize the voice as Mary's, as it's not quite low enough to be Julia's.  I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I can't help myself.

"...Done is lie to you," Mary is saying.  "You do realize that, don't you?"

"I know," Freddie murmurs.

A pause.

"But," he goes on, "I've been less than honest with her this whole time, as well, so, I... I mean, there's really no good guy or bad guy here.  She just is, I just am, and, uh... I mean, it doesn't make any sense, I know, but-"

"No, it doesn't," Mary agrees.  "What is it, really?"

"Hm?"

"What is it about her- that makes all the difference?"

"Difference?"

Another longer, more awkward silence.  "Between she -and me."

"Mary, darling, there's no comparison-"

"Please don't dodge me on this, Freddie.  Please don't lie, you said you'd never lie to me again."

"I'm not lying."

"You said, there's no comparison."

"There isn't.  You and she- you're different people, very different.  I've never had a reason not to trust you.  You're the one constant thing I have, you don't play games, you're always there for me-"

"But it's Eve you love." 

"Did I say that?"

"Not directly-"

"She can't stand me, Mary.  She hates me inside and out- what's more I've given her more than enough reason to, so-"

"Eve's song, her face, that kiss, and you say she hates you."

"Mary..." Freddie trails off a moment, sounding so weighed down.  Then he starts up again, a subtle edge under his words now.  "Why is it you didn't do this before?"

"What do you mean?"

"You encouraged me when I told you about myself months ago.  The life I live, you cheered.  Whatever makes me happy, you said, and you came to terms with it so soon."

"I don't want to hold you back, darling."

"You didn't, and you don't.  You accepted it, and I love you for it.  Which is why- when it comes to this girl, this mirage- who was in need, who wanted only to be my friend, who tried so hard to distance herself from me, stay in the background, be invisible- you question me.  You question us.  What for?  She didn't do anything.  It was all me.  I made her.  And even so, nothing's happened.  In spite of me, nothing's happened."

Mary sits there a moment, before saying, in a much softer voice, "Well."

"What?"

"You really do love her, don't you?"

"Mary, please-"

"Don't you?"  Her voice is as level as ever.  I've never heard her shout once, and I've known her for years.  

And Freddie doesn't say a word.  He won't confirm or deny it.  He is utterly silent.

After a while, Mary sighs.  "At least you didn't say 'no,' because that would have been untrue."

Absently I finally close the door behind me.  They both snap out of it and Freddie calls out, "Who's there?"

"John," I reply.  

"Come on in, John, sorry."

So I come further into the flat, and enter the parlor.  It's only Mary and Freddie sitting there.  I suppose everyone else has tripped on home.  Where's Julia, I wonder?  Perhaps she isn't still here.  Then what does he need the Relic for?  

"I ought to be on my way home," Mary murmurs.  "It was a lovely party, Freddie."

"Thank you for coming."

They get up off the sofa, and with a mutual "Good night" and a kiss, Freddie sends her off.  They're still friends, that I can see.  But once more, there's a sadness to her smile when she turns away.

As the door closes on Mary, Freddie doesn't so much as look my direction.  He walks back in, shoulders hunched and head down, drifting toward the piano.  He's so unhappy, the poor man.  Usually, he doesn't make it this plain to see, but it's impossible not to feel it now. I don't want to rush him, break his train of thought, so I just stand there, waiting to be acknowledged.  

He puts his hand absently on the keys, begins plinking out a melody.  I hear him hum softly under his breath, "Ju-li-a, Ju-li-a, dah de dah, calls me..."

Freddie abruptly stops, plays it again, but he varies the rhythm a little, adding notes to the second word.  "Ju-li-a, Ju-u-li-a..." 

Then he repeats it, and this time, he's developing his own lyrics.  This is creativity in action, and it's fantastic.  "Ju-li-a, look at me now... Ju-li-a, you got me somehow..."  A pause, then, his fingers wander up the scale, and he sings words that randomly drop down from his brain and land in his mouth.  "You gave me no war-ning, took me by surprise-"

I clear my throat quietly.  Freddie suddenly remembers he's not alone, and turns to me.

"Oh, yes, John," he whispers.  "Hello."

"Good evening."

"It is, somewhere out there."  He sighs.  "Would you like a drink?  There's tea right here, but I think it's gone cold now."

"I'm all right," I answer with a shake of my head.

"So do you have it?" he asks.  

"Right here."  I hold the Relic up, whose power gauge has been depleted to one-third.  It looks battered and beaten, but it works.  That's enough.  I place it into his outstretched hand.

Freddie nods.  "Perfect.  I'll just give this back to her before she runs off, and she can go home.  That's where the heart is, after all.  Maybe- maybe that's where she left it all this time.  Her heart."  He laughs weakly.

There is nothing in his face that says he means it.  To Freddie I say, "I suppose you're fairly ready for this to be over."

He shrugs.  "Thank you for fixing it, John."

"Nothing doing.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just be heading back home now."

"Of course, of course.  Again, sorry for calling you so late.  You're really quite good to me, you know."

"You're my friend," I say.  "Why wouldn't I?"

Freddie half-smiles and nods.  I just turn, then, and march back out the front door.  I'm already down the steps when the front door opens again, and Freddie comes out.

"By the way," he asks, "Did you have to go find anything special for it?  I can reim-"

"Not at all," I answer.  "It was a pleasure- and no, I didn't need anything."

Freddie doesn't go back inside just yet.  "It's so stupid," he exclaims after a moment, looking at the Relic he clenches in his fist.  "Who are they, even?  And why did they send her to me?  Why did these last two f---ing weeks have to exist?"

And then, as if to answer him, the Relic which has been quiet all day begins to sing: _Bip-bi-bip BEEP BEEP Bip-bi-bip BEEP BEEP-  
_

Freddie squints and starts looking for a way to answer.  "Push the button on the side," I instruct him.  When he does so, the keypad cover pops down, which makes him jump and almost drop the Relic on the floor again.

"Easy now!" I cry reflexively.  "I'm not putting it back together again."

"It's all right," Freddie mutters.  He presses the green button, and the Wagner popcorn stops popping. _  
_

I can hear my name through the speaker almost immediately afterward.  "John? Is it you?  Or is this Julia?"

Freddie puts the phone up to his lips, with a perplexed frown.  "Hello?"

"John?"

"No."

"Then who?" It's K on the other end.

"No, no, first you answer me, please, who are _you_?"

I hear some garbled, frustrated response- I suppose Tim just intervened.  And Freddie doesn't take any kindlier to him than I do.  His eyes narrow and he says, "Listen, you ass, I want to know who you are first, and then we'll talk about me."

I want to hear what's being said.  "Hey, can you put it on speakerphone?"

"How do I-"

I reach over and touch the megaphone button, and now K and Tim are babbling indignantly to us both.  I say, "This is John, chaps, it's me."

"Oh, good, it's you," K sighs.  

"The rude one is Tim," I tell Freddie, forgetting he can hear me.  

"Hey!" Tim growls.

"And the one who talks rather slow is K."

Freddie smirks.  "Well, you've made a few new friends, I s- wait a minute."  His eyes widen.  "K?"

"Yeah?"

"Not- not the guy in Vegas?  With that wretched broken-down truck?"

I squint.  "You know him?"

"What are you doing with the Relic?  Did you send Julia?  Did you know about it all along?"

K doesn't answer a moment.  "You... you do sound familiar... yeah, at Eve's wedding, the groom, man, you hated that truck-"

"The Mother Ship, right?"

"Yes- wait... Oh my God," K breathes. "This... isn't Mark from Canada, is it?"

"My name is Freddie," he says.  "But yes, you'd likely know me better as Mark."

Tim starts freaking out in real time.  "Freddie?  Not Freddie _Mercury_?"

" _The_ Freddie Mercury."  There's a note of pride in his voice.  

I can almost see the froth around Tim's unfriendly mouth.  "Jesus H. Christ!  Steve, do you know who that is?"

K replies, "Yes, it's the guy who got married in Vegas forty years ago.  I was there."

My eyes widen when K utters the words "guy who got married"; Freddie's face changes when he says "forty years ago."  He looks at me, his face as white as his shirt.  

"It only happened a couple of days ago, K.  Don't you remember?"  Freddie tried to interject, but K and Tim are bickering amongst themselves again.

"You were Mark, Freddie?" K sounds like he's going to faint.

"No, no, no!  That's Freddie Mercury from Queen!  Remember?  The one who di-"  All of a sudden Tim cuts himself off. 

But Freddie doesn't miss it.  His voice is flat as he asks, "The one who what, my dear Tim?"

"Uh, nothing.  Listen, Mr. Mercury, could you please give this phone to Julia if she's around?  It's the most incredible, surreal thing talking to you, all things considered, but we- we need to bring her in."

"First, what did you mean by forty years ago?"

A short hesitation.  Then Tim sighs.  "John knows, I guess we can tell you too.  We're forty years ahead of you.  You're the past, and we're the future."

I expect Freddie to snort and laugh this revelation away.  But instead he swallows, clenches the Relic tightly, and repeats, "Forty years?  Like _years_?  Forty times three hundred sixty-five days? _Forty f---ing years?!?!"_

"Yeah," K sighs.  "And we're really sorry you had to get mixed up in all this, man, it was an accident.  She was supposed to go somewhere else- meet someone else.  You weren't in the plan."  He pauses, and adds thoughtfully, cryptically, "Or _were_ you?  Maybe not _our_ plan, but-"

"Steve, not now.  Please, Fred- I mean Freddie, we won't be able to call again for about another one of your days- or another ten minutes, on our side of Time.  She needs to get back.  I don't expect you to understand, but she needs to get back here, do you know where she is?"

I don't know why Freddie doesn't just run back in, take the Relic upstairs to Julia, and let her vanish, but he only stands there talking to these clowns.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replies.  "I took her in for a while."

"You did?"

"Yeah.  It's been almost two weeks now.  She's been living with me."

"God, that's how long it's been?  We are so, so sorry, hopefully she didn't cause you too much misery-"

"No, no, she was sweet," Freddie replies, his voice turning soft.  "I'm quite- fond of her, actually."

"That's nice.  Well, you don't have to bother with her anymore, just -ive -is ba- to her, a-"

Freddie squints, holds the phone closer.  "Hello?"

But all we can hear now are a few haphazard syllables barked out here and there, until finally the Relic goes dead.  Now Julia will have to wait anywhere from two to twenty-four hours before she can hear from them again.  I wonder if that was Freddie's intent in not giving this directly to her.

"John," Freddie whispers after a moment, "I'm not mad, am I?  Did he say forty years?"

I nod.  

"So are they saying she's from the future?"

I nod again.

"But that doesn't make any f---ing sense."

I shake my head.

"Then again, nothing that's happened lately makes much sense anyway."

I shake my head again.

"Oh, for God's sake, f---ing stop with the head and talk like a person."

"What am I supposed to say?  That's what they told me, it doesn't make sense to me either.  Julia's probably better equipped to explain than those muppets are."

"I suppose you're right.  Maybe she is.  From- from there, I mean."  He swallowed.  "You know something?"

"What?"

"Tim, or whatever.  He was going to say, 'The one who died.'"  Freddie's brows knit.  

"You don't know that."

"It's obvious, John.  I heard him.  So, in forty years- uh, yes.  I'll be dead by the year 2017 at least."

"Freddie, that may not have been what he-"

"Oh, but it was, I could tell."  Only Freddie can discuss his own death and shrug his shoulders.  "So I won't see seventy. Who cares?  I don't want to be seventy.  Never did.  I'd much rather go before they have to put me in a wheelchair, with bags under my eyes, face all wrinkly.  Oh, how awful."

Honestly, I don't care if he's joking or not.  It's a terrible way to speak of oneself.  I fold my arms and sigh.  I wish he wouldn't be so blase about his own life.

"But K," he whispers to himself.  "My God.  How does that even work?"

"Life is a circle," I say philosophically. 

"What the f--- does that mean?"

"I dunno," I concede.  "Where's Julia now?"

"Upstairs." 

"Did you, um, apprehend the thing she took from you?"

"No, she still has it."

"Well, now you can offer a trade," I suggest. "Say you've got the Relic, and she can have it if she gives your whatchamacallit back."

Freddie stares at the Relic, nodding, likely not hearing a single word I said.

"So what are you waiting for? Here, let me leave you to it, so you can-"

"No," Freddie nods toward Julia's window. "Maybe- yeah.  Why don't you do it?"

"Me?" My brows furrow. This is a complete turnabout from last night, when he was all but accusing me of giving the Relic back and going back on my word! "Oh, no. You were the one who made me promise I wouldn't-"

"She'll come out for you, go on, give it to her. She's in her room."

I snort. "This is bullshit. You made me swear! Why are you-"

He explodes, "Because I'm a bloody coward, that's why!"

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm a bloody f---ing coward, and I don't think I could stand to look at her face again, so please... can you please do this for me?"

I shake my head in disbelief. "No, Freddie, I fixed her little phone, but that's as far as I go. The rest is yours."

"But I can't. Not now. I can scarcely bear to be in the same room with that girl any longer."

I draw back.  "You want her gone that badly?"

"Not want. Need. I need her gone- and I need her gone now. Right this f---ing minute."

"Why?"

"Because-" he begins, then cuts himself off before he blurts, loudly, "Because, by God, if I don't get rid of her right now, I could never let her go!"

I stare at him. Freddie shuts his eyes, and sighs through his nose. Did he just say what I think he said?

"Freddie, what does that-"

"It means," he interrupts me, "if I had it in my power I would raise my foot over this Relic and stomp it to pieces so small even you couldn't put them back together.  If the only opinion that mattered was mine, I would keep her for my own and tell everyone who didn't like it to f--- off.  If it were up to me and me alone... then, she would stay, and no questions asked."

"But last night you said-"

" _I know what I said_!" he shouts, startling me.  His eyes are burning with a queer sort of light.  "Don't you think I remember?  Every time I look at her I'm reminded, especially now after what she- Oh, John.  I was an asshole of the first degree.  Everything ill she believed of me, I confirmed.  I know exactly what I did last night, and what I said, and it- it's absolutely killing me."  

Once again, I am at a loss for the proper response.  I don't know how much longer I'm going to serve as a mutual stress ball for these two, but believe me when I tell you it's a true emotional strain on all involved.  For no reason I repeat Mary's question.  I suppose it's the first thing that comes to mind.  

" _Do_ you love her, Freddie?"

Once again, his lips purse, closing to the words that would remove all doubt.  His hand rests on his hip, and he looks down.  I didn't really expect an answer anyway.  It's a weird question.

"Well, whether you do or you don't," I sigh at last, "there's only one thing you can do- and it's got to be you, and no one else.  I fixed the Relic, but you-" I glance toward the second floor window, where Julia is hiding- " _you_ have to fix this."

Freddie nods.  "Yeah."  He blinks, then his eyes widen as the clock chimes one off in the distance.  "Oh, my God.  I should let you go."

"It's okay-"

"No, it isn't.  Veronica's probably begun to suspect we're having an affair or something."

"Nah," I say dryly.  "She knows better."

Freddie almost snickers at that, then claps me on the shoulder.  "Thanks again for being such a sport.  Go get some sleep.  I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right," I say.  "Good night."  I turn around, walk a way down the sidewalk when I turn back.  "Hey."

"What?"

"So, what was it she took?  I was just wondering."

"Oh, that."  Freddie shrugs. "Nothing much, really.  Just my heart."

"Oh, righ-" I do a double take.  "Wait, what?"

"And before you ask another ridiculously personal question, it's yes."

I'm a little confused.  "Yes...?"

"Yes, I love that odd, basic, American girl, more than I ever intended to.  There.  Are you happy now, you twat?"

I just stand there a moment.  By some great cosmic mystery this makes me so glad to hear.  "Asshole," I call to him.

"Takes one to know one," he pops back.  "Sweet dreams."

I feel my mouth split into a grin, and I wave good night.

_Good night, Freddie,_ I bid him silently, strolling down the dark sidewalk.  Behind me I can hear Freddie humming that little melody he had been tapping out on the piano earlier.  Then the door closes, and it's just me and the night.

For a moment I am reminded of that expression.  I don't know who said it first, but it goes, "If you love someone, set them free: if they come back to you, they're yours- and if they don't, they never were."  Something like that.  Who knew I would become so invested as to find myself hoping for the former.

I climb into my car.  _Good night Freddie,_ I think again, _and good luck._

 


	63. Home, Part One

Since I had personally just about had it with the tears, my eyes dried up quickly compared to last night.  Or perhaps I simply didn't have any more left to release.  Either way, I stopped crying fairly soon after I locked myself in the green room.  To be safe, I waited until the last guest finally left before I came back.  Since I still didn't want to mess up the bed, I stayed on the floor, Oscar nestled cozily in my lap (shortly after I had dashed upstairs, Oscar came and sat by my door until I let him in).  Funny, but I had stopped sneezing altogether.  I never knew one could grow accustomed to their own allergies.  You can adapt to anything, I suppose, if you're around it long enough.

Fortunately, my little emotional display didn't scare everyone off all at once; I could hear voices downstairs for the next few hours.  At intervals I opened the door to listen and see if the coast was clear, but each and every time I heard talking, laughter, even singing.  Maybe his friends mistook it for some kind of joke, some odd little set-up.  I didn't care how they took it, as long as they (including Freddie) didn't take it seriously.

I toyed with excuses, explaining why I did it.  Why I sang that particular song, why I had kissed him:

"Sorry about that, sir, I just felt like embarrassing myself in front of your buddies."  _Please.  As if I haven't done enough of that already._

"Oh, that?  Yeah, I just got, you know, carried away by the song, it's so emotional, I always kiss somebody after I sing it, that's what I do.  You were just the closest."  _That's almost laughable.  He'll see right through it, he knows how kiss-cautious I am.  Or was, anyway._

"I want to apologize for the complete awkwardness back there, I'm always so emotional when I'm ovulating."  _Uh, no, that one's too gross, besides I don't ever know my own calendar, so that's absolute crap_.

I sighed and shook my head, whispering at last, "Sorry, Freddie, for kissing you and making it seem like I'm desperately in love with you."

_But, you see_ , I finished to myself, _I am._

Eventually I gave up on the excuses, and decided I simply wouldn't mention it unless he did, in which case, I would apologize.  I hoped I wouldn't have to contend with him very long; what remained of my composure hung by a thread as it was.  

My job here was done.  I had my Passport, my journal, and enough money to get me to the States.  All I would have to do was leave.  

At last, I opened the door around one, and to my surprise found the flat was utterly silent.  Splashing a little cold water on my face, I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs.  Nothing stirred.  Freddie himself seemed to have gone.

Why I didn't bolt right then and there, I don't know.  But instead of seizing my chance, I picked up the tea tray and placed it in the kitchen by the sink.  I didn't feel like washing the cups and teapot out just yet, though -I had been doing that all afternoon and night, and I was tired of everything- so I left it for the moment and walked back into the living room.  The guitar sat where I had left it, in the corner by the sofa.  I picked it up and began to play softly, humming under my breath.  

Whether I realized it or not, I was waiting for him; as much of a beast as Freddie had acted recently, I still wanted to properly bid him farewell.  For my greatest joys and my greatest anguishes, he was responsible.  If nothing else, he still deserved my thanks for the joys.  I could not leave without bestowing them.

"Oh, every spring, there's a honey bee that stings/ so things can change," I whispered.  "Oh, every fire, get too close and it reminds you/ Things can change in love.../ But it sure feels good at first."

_No, actually, it never felt good. Shut up, Train, you don't know anything.  
_

The front door opened.  At once, I stopped playing and put down the guitar.  Hopping off the sofa like something had bitten me, I ran into the kitchen, my heart thumping.  I was still so terrified- but I really didn't know why.  I didn't know what made me hide away again, but I did it.

I needed a reason to be in the kitchen, so I started washing the tea cups.  _Please be nice, Freddie_ , I begged him silently.  _Don't be a jerk.  I don't feel up to the game any longer.  Let's just say you won, and we'll part on neutral terms. Okay?_

I heard his footsteps enter the kitchen, and I realized very quickly how little strength I now had left.  

"Hello, Julia."  

My soul shivered at the sound of his voice. _Oh, God, the way he says my name... my real name..._

I turned my head toward him, but kept my eyes down.  "Hi." _  
_

When he didn't say anything else, I faced the wall again and went back to scrubbing the cups clean.  "Is everyone gone?"

"Except us, yes."

"Oh, good.  Then as soon as I finish this, I'll be gone, too."  _  
_

"Darling, don't worry about this," he said softly. "I can-"

"It's okay," I breathed out.  "It's not very much."

He walked up beside me.  "Let me help you."  

"No, really, it's fine, go- do something else, I got it." 

"Julia-"  

"I said, it's fine.  Please go in there.  Go anywhere, I don't care.  Just let me do this.  Please."

He let out a weary, sad sigh, and after a moment, he moved away, going back into the parlor.  My voice had been a little too short for my liking, but I couldn't have him standing so close, or run the risk of my hands brushing against his own large ones when he took the dishes from me to dry.  I couldn't afford another lapse of judgment- and I was much more susceptible now than in the moments before I'd kissed him.  I had no choice but to double down if I was to make it out alive.

"Five minutes, tops," I assured Freddie. "Time me." _  
_

"Are you in a hurry to go?" he called after a moment.  

"Kind of," I replied.  "Why?"

"We need to talk."

A pit formed in my stomach.  "We do?"  Suddenly I looked at the rings on my hands.  "Oh, yeah!  I almost forgot, I need to sign those papers, too."

"Papers?"

"For the annulment, right?"

"Oh.  Yes.  That.  I'll go get them.  And, um- there's something I think you ought to have before you, um- leave for good."

"What is it?"

"I'll show you when you come back in here."

"Yes, sir."

He didn't reply, instead tromping loudly up the steps to retrieve the fake annulment for the fake marriage.  The rest of the time I spent washing the tea setup, Freddie said nothing.  There was no music playing, no conversation, just the running of hot water and the occasional clink of the china against the sink.  It was an almost lethal silence, until finally I heard the soft notes of the piano float into the air.  Freddie couldn't bear the quiet either.

He began by playing "My Melancholy Blues," but in a tempo closer to the version featured on the album.  I heard a snatch of the verse section of "Jealousy," then a piece of "Somebody to Love" and a few bars of "We Are the Champions." Then he started making things up as he went along, throwing in little bits of songs I recognized, and playing some odd transitional chord that didn't immediately seem appropriate, but turned out to be perfectly in-tune in the very next second, making for a truly impressive medley.  If this was his stream of consciousness, no wonder the single, guided sections of thought, known as his songs, were so incredible.

Placing the last cup carefully on the rack to drain, I strode out of the kitchen and took a deep breath.  _Dear Lord, please don't let me lose my head._

I marched over to the piano and waited for him to find a resting point.  On the stand, where sheet music would usually be placed, the annulment papers sat waiting to be signed.  I plucked them off the piano.  Or tried to.  As soon as my fingers closed over the sheet, Freddie grabbed my wrist.

"Don't rush me, my dear," he said quietly.  

"But, sir, it only takes a minute-"

"My name is Freddie, you know my name is Freddie, so f---ing call me Freddie," he hissed.  "One thing at a time."

I nodded.  Lips twitching, he rose from the piano bench and sat down on the sofa, bringing the paper along.  I went to sit diagonally from Freddie, who shook his head and patted the cushion beside him.  When I hesitated, he closed his eyes.

"I just want to touch your hand," he explained bluntly.  

I blinked.  "Why?"  

"Because I- may not get another chance."

That pierced through my thinning armor and struck deep inside.  So I gingerly stood and perched myself where he wanted, just inches away from him.  I let Freddie move his hand onto mine, and close over it.  My heart fluttered, and I had to fight to keep from letting out a little involuntary gasp.  How completely he excited me even now, when all he had dared to do was hold my hand in his.

"Is that my ring you're wearing?" he asked, looking at my thumb.

I nodded.

"Funny, that it should fit on your hand," he mused.  "They're so small.  Your hands, I mean."

"They just look small because yours are so large," I murmured.  I studied the way his hand seemed to fold around mine.  _Fits like a glove_ , I heard myself think.

"Small and soft," he whispered.  "By the way, I didn't tell you how beautiful you look tonight."

_From "hardly presentable" to "beautiful" in a single night_.  I sighed through my nose.  "Thank you."

We sat there, awkwardly staring at each others' hands, for neither of us had the fortitude to look the other in the eye.  No one said a word, until finally I broke the silence.

"So, um," I murmured, "did you enjoy the meal?"

"Oh, yes, very much," he replied.  "It was delicious."

"You barely finished half."

"I eat like a bird, I admit it."  He coughed.  "Unlike some people, I don't eat as though I'm never going to eat again."

For a few seconds I sat there, then my brows furrowed slightly.  "Freddie, was that a shot?"

His lips pursed.  At last Freddie whispered, "Sorry."

I shook my head, fighting back a tiny half-smile. _Good grief.  Not even my metabolism is safe from your petty jabs._

"But I did enjoy it," he added.  "The food, I mean."  His hand seemed to grip mine a little tighter.  "And the songs."

_Okay, he mentioned it, now I have to ask._   "Well, I'm not Joe, but I tried.  By the way..."

"What?"

"I, uh... didn't ruin anything, did I?"

"I don't know what you-"

"Yes, you do."

"The, um... that song?"

"Yes, and- uh, that which followed it-"

"Oh, you mean when you kissed me?" What was it about those words, and the gentle voice he used to say them, that sharpened the aching in my heart?

"Right.  That.  I didn't- I mean, it didn't make things too weird, did it?"

"No, no, most everyone practically forgot about it after a few minutes."

I sighed and nodded.  "That's good."

"I didn't forget."

"That's natural," I said clinically.  "I wouldn't expect you to."

Another long, choking silence ensued, the air filling with all the words I was screaming way down inside.  

"If you feel like telling me," he said at last, "what made you come back?"

"Is this what you wanted to discuss?"

"No, I just want to know."  His thumb slowly slid back and forth over my knuckles.  

I shrugged.  "Rudy."

He sounded shocked.  "Rudy?  My driver, Rudy?"

"He's the only Rudy I know."

"But how-"

"That crazy man followed me all the way to Bath and convinced me to come back."

"Why would he do that?"

I decided against describing how staunchly Rudy believed that I was essentially Freddie in a skirt- and how, to some inconvenient extent, he wasn't wrong. "I don't know, he's the silent type, remember?"

"What were you doing out there?"

"I was about to go join the abbey- and then he went, found me, told me I didn't stand a chance.  Said I would be miserable."

"I told you that, but you didn't believe me."

"So I came to get the Passport," I concluded, "and- yeah."

He frowned.  "Could you not find it?"

"Oh, no, I found it."

"Then why did you stay?"

I bit my lip.  "Why do you care?"

"I'm just curious, Julia," he whispered.  "The way things have, uh- transpired lately, I don't know why you would."

Memories of the night before flared in my mind, and my words became jagged.  "But, as I recall, I'm not worth the curiosity," I murmured.  "I'm such a dull stick-in-the-mud-"

"Darling," he pleaded.  

"Your words, not mine, dear sir-"

_"Julia, for f---'s sake, STOP CALLING ME THAT!"_ he cried in the most tortured voice I'd ever heard him use.  The hand he wasn't holding twitched anxiously. I wanted to plug my ears, keep out the bleeding emotion.  It only enhanced my own.

He sounded on the verge of tears.  "Good God.  Please don't throw those- The past couple of days, I've been so horrible, and I've said some terrible things to you, things I have no right to say to anyone, least of all you, and I didn't mean one of them, not one f---ing thing, and what I did to you last night- oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry, please believe me- scoff at anything else I say, but believe me when I tell you _I am sorry_."

My hands twitched again, but this time with the almost crippling desire to throw my arms around Freddie and be one with his despairing, beautiful soul, to just sit there and weep with him. How I kept it together after such an apology, I have no idea.  

"I believe you," I whispered.  "And I forgive you." 

"Do you?" To me it seemed there was a bit of cynicism edging the question.

"Of course I do."  _God, Freddie, have you any idea how much I want to kiss you- say I love you and kiss you and hold you, oh, my prince, what have you done to me?_

I sat there a moment, let him settle down before I finally answered him, "I told you, I said I would help you- so I did."

"That's the only reason?"

_No.  There's one more.  It's because I love you.  But I can't say that._   "Should there be another?"

He blinked.  "I suppose not."

"Freddie, it's getting awfully late, what is it you wanted to say?" I sighed.  "Or did you already say it?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay.  I just don't want to waste your time-"

"Julia, you couldn't waste my time if you tried.  It's me who's stalling, I know.  It's just- I feel like I haven't spoken to you in ages and I've missed this so much, missed talking to you, and I'm probably never going to see you again, so I-" his voice seemed to thicken again, and he made himself take a deep breath before continuing, "I want to - get as much good out of this moment as I can."

For a man who kept as many people around him as possible, he sounded so lonely.  My heart broke for him all over again.  The hand Freddie held turned over so that it could close around his as well.  We just sat there on the sofa holding hands for a few seconds, my other hand busy scratching behind sleeping Tiffany's ears.  If I looked into Freddie's eyes now, I would surely melt- and be nothing else if not his.

"What I- had to say," he murmured, "has to do with you.  I have to ask it again- a question you didn't answer.  You're so good at beating about the bush, I didn't even realize that's what you did until I really thought about it."

"You and me both," I remarked.  

"What?"

"Evasive- you know, answering questions with questions.  It's not just me."  _Let's add that to the list, shall we?  
_

"Yeah, I suppose that's true," he said to himself.  "Very true."

"So what question was it?"

"I just- want to know who you are, and what you came here for."

"That's two questions."

"Answer them both, please.  Who are you?  Will you finally tell me?"

"Who am I," I repeated, with a deep sigh.  He had read my journal, he knew just about everything already.  Now all that was left for me to do was fill in the blanks.  I couldn't keep lying anyway, not when I was so bad at it.

"Yes, I'll tell you," I whispered.  "Stop me, though, when you decide I belong in a madhouse, or you just don't want to hear any more."  And I continued, my eyes still down, but my voice speaking slowly and clearly:

"My full name is Julia Christine Samuels, and I was born December 9, 1997.  And yes, I meant to say 97.  So if you want to be technical, you could say I'm almost negative twenty years old.  

"I'm a college student with a Major in Psychology and a Minor in Music.  And on November 27, in the year 2017, in the interest of saving my grades and honors status, I agreed to... be the test subject for a radical experiment.  What they didn't tell me is that it was a time machine.  The idea was to send me to 1971, talk to a guy named Saul Alinsky, spend a few hours there at most, and come straight back."

"Who's Saul Alinsky?" he asked.  _All the wacky stuff I've just laid out, and that's your question?_

"A Blue Meanie."

"Oh.  So- how did you end up here?"

"The Magic Mirror, I guess, interfered with the signal or whatever.  I honestly have no idea how that even happened, but I was feeling a little nervous, and T-Rod wasn't working- that's the machine- so I tried looking up pictures of..."

"Of what?"

"...Pictures of you."

Freddie fell silent again.  

"And when I typed in the keywords, while still inside T-Rod, it sent me here- plopped me right into your closet... And you know the rest."

I expected Freddie to have had enough by now, but he said, "Then... you did know who I was."

"Oh, man," I breathed.  "Yes, I knew- and I know.  I don't know everything, but I know a lot.  For seven whole calculating years, I watched you.  I studied you, admired you, downright obsessed over you.  I know that sounds unhinged, but- you fascinated me.  You're a talented, complicated man, I've always thought so- and you make such a point of concealing yourself- I used to watch your eyes, how impenetrable they can be.  I wanted to know what was going on behind them... so when the chance arose, and by some great terrible magic I fell into your lap- I couldn't let something like that go to waste, I- I had to carpe the diem."

Freddie swallowed.  "My God..."

"I know it sounds absolutely mad, I'm sorry, but it's true."

"That's not what I mean.  I'm just listening to you, and it's like..."

"What?"

"Nothing."  Freddie hesitated a moment, let my words roll back and forth in his head before he asked, "So were you... disappointed with your findings, Doctor?"

I shook my head.  

"That's good," he whispered.  "I'd hate for you to, um- spend all this time here, then go home feeling like you've wasted two weeks."

"You're taking all this so w-" I cut myself off.  "Go home?"

He nodded.  "Yes."

I frowned.  "But I can't. The Relic is gone."

Freddie just sat there, then without a word he lifted my hand to his lips and softly kissed it.  I felt him start to shake, much like I had begun to do.  He laid my hand against his cheek for a few moments, then finally released me.

"Julia Christine Samuels," he whispered, nodding.  "Look behind the pillow."

I looked up at him at last, but his eyes remained fixed on his knees.  The pillow? Go home?  What-

And then it hit.  A strange feeling of angst- not euphoria, not excitement, but angst- washed over me.  I turned to the pillow beside me, almost afraid to look.  With trembling hands I pulled it away.

And nearly fainted.  I bit my fingers to keep from shrieking.  _No.  I'm dreaming.  I must be dreaming.  This cannot be.  It's gone!  It's gone forever!_

But there it was, sitting casually against the cushions.  The missing link.   The way back home.  The _real_ Passport.

My one and only Relic.

As if in a trance, I reached out to the Nokia, afraid it should evaporate as soon as my fingers grazed its hard plastic case.  I clenched it in my hands, laughing in relief- but strangely, I felt much less joy than I had anticipated.  Of course, I was glad, and oh, so grateful, but I wasn't overcome.  I suppose I hadn't felt as trapped as I thought I did.

_But now_ , I thought, _I am free_.  

The sofa cushions shifted.  I looked up.  Freddie had stood and was walking away.

At once I scrambled to my feet, calling, "Freddie, wait!  Hold on!"

He stopped.  I rushed to his side, took his arm.  "Where did you find it?"

Very slowly he shook his head.  "That's the thing."

"What is?"

"I... I didn't have to."

I stood there, blinking.  When my tongue decided to kick back into working order, I whispered, "Freddie, are you saying- did you have this all the time?"

"No," he said quickly.  "I just... I accidentally... I sort of... broke it."

"How?  I want to know.  Please tell me."

After a moment, he did.  "When we were shopping for you- I took out your Relic to sort of look at it.  And then I tripped, and the first thing to hit the floor was the hand holding it.  Got all smashed up."

"The guy who fell.  That was you."  

He nodded.  "So I had John fix it.  He's had it this whole time."

I stared at his down-turned profile. "So... you broke it- and had John fix it... but you didn't _tell_ me?"

"I just told you," Freddie muttered.  

"Freddie, you let me believe I was trapped.  I'm not upset, I'm actually not even very surprised, I just- why wouldn't you tell me?  I was so scared-"

He snarled, "Look, you have it now, all right? It's fixed, you're free. Isn't that enough? You can f---ing go back to your gingerbread-perfect world and live out your pretty little plans just like you wanted and forget all about me, the monster. You can go now! Aren't you f---ing thrilled?"

I shrank back, let go of his arm.  "I'm sorry," I whispered.  "Thank you for giving it back to me, I'll, uh- just- sign that over there and make my way out..."

Shivering, I turned away, took the pen on the piano and signed the paper that would destroy what didn't even really exist.  Once I'd scrawled my fake name, I started up the stairs to grab my things.  As I ascended, I heard him following close behind.  He put his hand on my shoulder about three quarters of the way up.

"I didn't mean you have to leave my flat," he said quietly.  "It's dark and muggy out there."

"It's a quarter after one," I replied, looking at the clock.  

"Right.  Anyway, until they call, you're still- kind of stuck here, and, uh..."  He trailed off, then picked back up.  "My point is, you're welcome to stay until they do."

I swallowed.  "I don't want to impose any longer, but thank you for the offer-"

"Julia, I'm not offering, I'm asking," he murmured, walking one more step higher so that we were on the same level.  "Please stay one more night.  Even if you go back before the morning, I need you to be close for as long as you have to wait, I can't... I just... Please stay."

How was it he could be cruel, then sweet, then even more cruel, sharp enough to break the skin, and still make me want to fall into his arms with one or two charming sentences?

With a sigh, and yet another stupid lump in the throat, I nodded.  "I will, then.  Thank you."

Freddie lifted my chin, made me look into his tired eyes.  "What are you thanking me for?"

I half-smiled.  "For being so generous," I answered.  "For the madness, and for the living.  It's been such a ride, through and through.  I had more fun the last two weeks than I've had in my entire life- and it's all because of you."

"Don't mention it," he murmured, and then just gazed at me, his hand still under my chin.  There was something more he wanted to say, I could see it in those flashing eyes.  But his lips stayed sealed, even though his jaw clenched several times in a row with things he couldn't bring himself to utter.  

Then he whirled away from me, eyes down, shoulders hunched, and marched up the rest of the stairs into his bedroom.  He shut the door.

I stood frozen for a minute.  Then I, too, carried myself to the green bedroom and locked the door behind me.  _Asshole.  He didn't even say goodbye_.

Setting the Relic on the nightstand, I undressed and put on my dark green nightgown.  The bed was nicely made up, and I wanted to keep it in relatively good shape, so I didn't draw the covers back, instead deciding to lay on top of them, like I had on the first night.

_My God,_ I thought to myself suddenly.  _I'm never going to see him again.  Sure, he'll be in the pictures, his voice will be in the songs- but I'll never ever get to be this close again.  Why didn't I give him a hug, let alone kiss him?  
_

Because I was being careful, of course. _  
_

_Screw careful!_ I thought angrily, rebelliously. _I love him!  Why couldn't I let down my guard for two seconds, just to touch him one last time?_

I walked to the bedroom door, raised my hand to unlock it and run to Freddie but I stopped.  And went no further.  For suddenly now I knew the answer to that question he kept asking me.

"What are you afraid of?"

_What am I afraid of?_   I thought.  _Not you, Freddie.  I thought I was, but it's not you.  No.  It's me.  I'm afraid of myself- and who I might become, if I walk out of this room right this moment and lay myself at your feet._

But even as I told myself this, I could feel it.  Subtle, but there nonetheless.

A shift.

A crack.

Deep inside, the great walls around my heart, the bricks and mortar of caution and good sense, were beginning to buckle under the weight of something I could not suppress much longer. 

_Come quickly, Dr. K.  I can't do this anymore._

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

 


	64. Home, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: This chapter contains mature content. Viewer discretion advised.

I lay there in the dark, tossing about on top of the covers, assuming every position at every angle in which I might trip off to unconsciousness. But my eyes would not close and stay. All I knew was that the man I loved was fifteen feet away in the next room, and we hadn't said anything even close to "Goodbye."

I looked at the Android to see I had been rolling around restlessly for the past hour and a half. _Two thirty in the morning, and I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. And even if K does call in the next minute, I'm whipped, and the trip back is going to be much harder on me than the one that sent me here. I need sleep. I need it now._

Freddie had a bottle of sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet. However, it wouldn't do either of us any good if I knocked on his door and roused him when he himself probably hadn't slept for the past thirty-six hours, at least.

I sat up in bed, remembering a story my mother had told me about a vacation she took in Mexico once. She too was suffering from insomnia at the time, and a local had described this delicious drink to her called _horchata_ , which supposedly would help assuage the sleeplessness. If my memory served, it was basically just warm milk with cinnamon and rice, but according to my mother, it worked wonders, and she slept like a baby thereafter.

"Hey, if it works, I'm in," I muttered to myself. "Freddie, hope you don't mind if I use the kitchen really quick."

So I climbed off the bed, smoothing the wrinkles I'd made in the duvet and snatching up the Relic. Very carefully I opened the door and tiptoed out, nearly tripping over Oscar in the process.

"Why can't you be polite and meow first?" I hissed playfully, scooping him into my arms. "You know I'm blind as a bat without my contacts." I don't know why that cat loved me so much- but then, there's no accounting for taste, especially where animals and their people are concerned.

Freddie's own door was shut. Because my nosiness knows no bounds, I laid my ear up against it, listening for any telltale noises, but all was still.

I set Oscar down on the floor and whispered, "Meet you at the bottom." Then, putting the Relic between my teeth, I straddled the banister one last time and slid quietly down, catching myself before I could fall. I couldn't see any fuzzy, multicolored balls of fur on the sofa; I can only assume Tom and Tiffany had joined their daddy.

With Oscar padding along at my heels, I strode into the dark kitchen, setting the Relic on the counter. I turned on one light over the sink. In the interest of time and my impatience, I decided to forego the rice part and just make a little cinnamon milk.

"Would you like some, too, Cat?" I whispered, quietly putting a saucepan on the stove. "Let's make yours without cinnamon, just in case."

I poured about two cups' worth of milk into the saucepan and turned on the heat. My sleep-deprived brain wandered as I studied my little green-eyed friend. Oscar did look like Cat from _Breakfast at Tiffany's._ I wondered if that made me Holly Golightly or Paul Varjak, George Peppard's character _._

_Oh, I'd be Paul, most definitely, because Freddie has to be Holly -the high-handed extrovert with an aloof outer shell belying the fragile soul and guarded, soft heart._

"Here you go, you slob," I said playfully, pouring Oscar a saucer of heated milk. I bent over, humming "Moon River" as I set it down in front of him. In quiet delight, I watched him dunk his whiskers into the saucer, his rough tongue lapping up the warm, sweet milk. With a sigh, I stood back up and turned around-

And almost had a heart attack when I saw a man's silhouette looming right behind.

"GAH!" I screamed, covering my mouth and remembering in the very next split second the only person it could possibly be. I began to laugh, overjoyed that we had a chance to say a proper, heartfelt good-bye and maybe find some closure.

"Freddie, you scared me!"

"Ooo," he murmured dryly, "that's a first." But even in the half-light, I could see the promise of a smile on his out-of-focus face. "Sorry."

I waved my hand. "It's fine. Just wasn't expecting it, that's all. I, um, I didn't wake you, did I?"

Freddie shook his head, came closer. "I was up anyway." I could see he wore his dressing gown, but not much else; his bare chest was quite nicely exposed through the navy blue robe collar. He peered into the saucepan. "What are you making?"

"Oh, just a little cinnamon milk. Apparently it helps you sleep, so I'm trying it. Would you like some?"

He thought about it, and nodded. "You know, that actually sounds nice. Yes."

"Perfect. There's enough for two short glasses in there- oh, I should probably take it off the heat, we don't want too many bubbles. Warm milk, not boiling milk."

"I'm on it," Freddie whispered, shutting off the fire underneath.

"I also threw a few drops of honey in there for good measure, so I hope it's not too sweet for you." I took down two glasses from the cabinet and poured the milk. A glass for Freddie, a glass for me. For good measure I dusted my own glass with a little extra cinnamon. My sweet tooth- the one vice I could claim before Freddie entered my life. What a difference one's company makes.

"This is nice, I get to make one more thing for you before I go." I looked at him. "So you can't sleep either, huh?"

He shook his head and swallowed a yawn.

"Did you try- I mean, you've got those pills in there-"

"I know. I took one."

"And it's not working?"

"No. It was supposed to kick in half an hour ago."

"I hate pills. Too much nasty stuff in them."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "They're just sleeping pills, my dear Miss Natural."

"Exactly."

"You're so paranoid."

"Don't blame me. Blame Alex Jones."

"I don't know who that is."

"You don't have to, it's not necessary."

He nodded sagely. "I didn't think so." After a pause, he asked, "So... are you going to tell your family about all this?"

"I would if they would believe me," I said. "But they won't."

"Why not?"

"Because time travel isn't supposed to be a thing. it's supposed to be impossible."

"True," he murmured. "Besides, the chances of you talking to a man who's already six feet un-"

"What?"

"Nothing." He looked into his glass a moment and said, "I think we should have a toast."

"All right." I raised my drink and drew closer. "To what?"

I saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a clever smile. "To the future, of course."

"Yes, to the future." I whispered. "Cheers."

We clinked glasses, our eyes on each other's as we sipped.

"Hey, that's quite good," Freddie remarked. "What did you put in it again?"

"Just milk and cinnamon. It's pretty easy. I bet you could even make it."

"I wouldn't count on it. I've been known to burn water."

I sighed with a sad smile. "Oh, I'm going to miss that."  
  


Freddie took a sip. I couldn't see his expression very well- which was fine by me- but I could hear in his voice he wasn't counting on that. "What?"

I felt my cheeks flush. "The, um... the way you said 'water.'"

"Are you making fun of the way I talk again? Because two can play that game."

"Not at all-"

"De-zar-russ."

"Oh, shut up," I said softly. "I think your accent is beautiful, but the way you say some things, like 'water,' is perfect, I'm sorry, I can't help it."

I thought I saw his eyes sparkle, but it was just the light reflecting off from over the sink. "Thank you, darling."

I shook my head, the blues comfortably settling back in my soul. I had to hug him, if nothing else. I put my arms around his neck and held tightly. "I'm going to miss this so much."

We just stood there a few moments while Freddie let it sink in. I pulled away, lifted my glass again for another sip. Finally he whispered, "So- what else exactly about 'this' will you miss?"

I took a hearty swig, draining the glass, then sighed again. "Oh, I'll miss the cats- Oscar, especially. I'll miss the Deacons, and Rudy, and Straker, and I'll miss- I'll miss you, and the thrill of merely being with you, whether that means we're on the loose in Manhattan and Vegas, or we're just standing here bickering in your kitchen, like now."

My voice grew softer. "And... I'll miss your smile, and your laugh... and your eyes... and your heart."

_Oh, great. I've said too much._

Freddie seemed to come closer. "You know, it's, um, funny you should say that," he murmured, setting down his glass. "You see... I already miss you."

"You do?" I whispered. My flesh began to crawl, and my heart to pound all over again.

"Indeed," he replied. "I miss you horribly."

I felt weak in the knees. Biting my lip, I turned away and picked up the saucepan, carrying it to the sink. "What, um," I managed, "what do you miss?"

Freddie strode up behind me, gently putting his hands around my waist and pulling me against him from behind. I could feel his heart beating against my spine.

"I miss," he whispered in a voice tender enough to make me shut my eyes. "I miss the way you bounce along on the balls of your feet when you walk. I miss rowing with you over absolutely nothing. I miss the way your eyes fill up the room whenever you walk in, and they're all I can see- and how you can just be standing there at almost three in the morning, with your hair a shambles and no makeup, ladling milk into a saucer for a cat- and still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"There's much more, you know, but most of all, really, I miss... feeling this way."

"What way?" I asked, my voice choked. I was losing it.

He brushed my hair away from the side of my face, and kissed my neck. "Complete."

_Oh, God, no._ _NO. **NO!!!**_

Deep inside, the walls trembled, splitting on every side. I gave it one last try. I summoned up all the strength that remained, drawing on every cell that composed me to break away from Freddie and, with violently shaking hands, place his empty glass in the sink as well.

"That's nice," I gasped. A stupid thing to say, but I wasn't really thinking at all at this point. Cleverness had flown out the window. "Uh, I hope you liked the, the that, um, and thank you again, I'm just gonna go back upstairs now..."

I went to pick up the Relic, still quiet since my tracker was still red. But it was too late.

Because then Freddie began to laugh.

I froze. This wasn't his normal laugh at all. I had never heard anyone laugh this way. It was angry, it was cold, it was insane. And it scared me to death.

Like an idiot, I turned, secure in my myopia, and asked, "What's so-"

"What's it going to take?" he whispered shakily. "What's it going to take, Julia? I'd really like to know."

I swallowed. "I don't-"

"What feat of Hercules must I perform, to get through to you- to make you open your f---ing eyes?"

Suddenly he stood inches away from me, hands clamped down on my forearms, his face hovering so close our noses almost touched. "Tell me, what do I have to do? Is there even anything? Are you just so used to being locked up and shut away that you've forgotten how to show it when you do feel? I mean, _if_ you feel?"

I closed my eyes.

"Look at me."

"No."

"I said, _look at me_."

"Freddie, please-"

" _Please_!" He shouted. "Please, what? Please stop? You want me to stop? No. Never. Your heart- you may be content to keep it locked up, but not I. I shall have it. I will take it, if it's the last thing I do. I will make you love me, just like you made me love you."

That made me open my eyes. I felt something crumbling within as I stood there numbly staring into the blazing dark spheres, his words reverberating within my skull. _He loves me?_

"Perhaps, I should say it again," he hissed. "I love you. Still don't believe me? Did I say it wrong? Or do I need to prove it, prove I'm absolutely f---ing mad for you? Shall I get on my knees and kiss your feet? Because I will. Watch me."

Like a dummy I watched Freddie sink to the floor and kneel. To my blank astonishment he bent over, taking hold of my ankles, and with a shudder kissed the tops of my bare feet one, two, three, four times. Such unbridled insanity tore ruthlessly at my heart. I couldn't take it anymore.

I fell to my knees, begging him, "Freddie, stop this, please, I don't-"

But when he lifted his head, I knew I had lost the battle. I had nothing left to fight him with, especially not now, with tears streaking his gaunt cheeks and streaming from his glassy eyes- two polished black marbles with living bonfires raging within. He took my face in his hands.

"Say it," Freddie whispered. "I want to hear you say it."

I touched his cheek, pressed my forehead to his. Two tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes, as in a soft, breathless voice, I did just that.

"...I love you."

And with those three quiet syllables, it was finished. The walls crumbled, the dam broke, and the unchained, crushing love I had repressed now overtook me in waves too powerful to handle.

"Do you, Julia?" Freddie whispered. "Do you really love me?"

"I love you," I said again, my voice getting stronger. "Oh, God, Freddie, I love you so much..."

My arms went round him, pulled him tighter against me, locked him in a long, passionate kiss- the most innocent one of that night. He entangled his fingers in my hair, his lips smothering mine so that I could barely breathe. He put one arm round my waist, keeping the other hand pressed against the back of my neck so I couldn't break free. His tongue sought mine in my mouth and caressed it sinfully. My head spun, and my body was on fire. There was no room for thought. Only this surge, this wild rush, this sheer madness at last taking over-

_Bip-bi-bip BEEP BEEP Bip-bi-bip BEEP BEEP-_

I pulled away a little.

Freddie's eyes were confused, and then they widened with worry. "Angel?"

I Iooked down at my tracker, which was glowing blue. All I would have had to do was answer the phone, and it would turn a fine shade of lime green seconds afterward. I looked back at Freddie.

"Excuse me a moment," I whispered. Freddie released me slowly, and I stood, hoisting myself onto the counter. I reached over and pushed the green answer button, my face deadpan. Freddie stood and watched, saying nothing.

"Hello?" K's voice crackled on the other end. "Julia?"

I was silent.

"Julia, is that you? Say somethi-"

_Beep._

I took my thumb off the "End Call" button _,_ and looked up at Freddie, whose eyes were in danger of falling out of their sockets, they were so wide.

I shrugged and smiled. "Wrong number."

His mouth split into a surprised, happy grin, and he burst out laughing- but the sweet, rolling laughter I loved this time. Once more we were in each others' arms, unable to say much of anything besides our names and "I love you." There were no more secrets to keep. I had nothing left to hide, and nothing left to give, but myself.

Oh, it was so over.

Our lips met again and again, each kiss hungrier and more desperate than the last. I could already feel Freddie sigh heavily, his flesh heating up even as I held him. Feverishly I undid the loose knot in his belt and pushed the robe off his shoulders while he tore my nightgown off over my head. He ran his hands up and down my body, squeezing all the places that made me quiver inside. The blue glow of the tracker turned red again and reflected off Freddie's flaring eyes, making him look almost devilish.

Freddie hoisted me up off the counter, one hand on my bottom. Taking his cue, I wrapped my legs tightly round his waist and clenched my hands in his hair. Showering me with breathless kisses, Freddie carried me up into his bedroom. Very carefully he set me down against the soft covers. The bed sank in around me as he crawled across and knelt against me, straddling my hips.

He put his hands on my waist, smiled when I gasped involuntarily. Leaning down, he held on firmly to my sides and kissed my belly, then let his hands move up to feel my breasts while he sucked on my neck. I shut my eyes and moaned rapturously, my breathing almost matching his.

Suddenly he took hold of the tracker itself, and smiled wider. One sharp tug, and he snapped the tracker away and tossed it into the corner. Before I could say anything, he pushed me down against the sheets, buried his face against my naked breasts, and mumbled something about it being in the way. I held his head against my bosom while he bit and moaned and sent my brain into yet another tailspin.

His boldness was contagious. I kissed his shoulders, his hair, his gently perspiring face, whispering his name as I came up for air. The scent of his body, that musky licorice fragrance, filled my nostrils, whetted my new appetites. My hips ground up against his, and felt the hot bulge of him aching to be free. It wasn't enough. Closer. Closer. I had to feel more of him.

Blindly I fumbled at his shorts, but my hands shook so that I couldn't quite push them down, when he laughed and did it for me so that in no time I lay there with this naked man on top of me, this man whose inexorable hands were awakening parts of me I didn't know I had. I hardly knew my own hands as they explored his lithe, sweet body, and returned to that same place I had shrank from only yesterday. I knew what to do now. Just like he showed me. I do learn so very quickly.

"Oh, _yessss_ ," he moaned. "That's it. Take m _-_ ohh _, f---,_ baby- take me there..."

I kept rubbing, his deep sighs growing louder as it throbbed in my hands. Just to do it, I grabbed at him, and clenched my fist. I can't even describe the sound he made- and what it did to me. Good Lord.

"Spread your legs," he panted in a muffled, hoarse voice. "I can't wait anymore."

For just a moment, what little resistance was left made me hesitate.

Freddie put his hands on my knees and ordered, "SPREAD. YOUR F---ING. LEGS."

With that he forced my legs wide open and knelt down between them. He kissed my breasts and lips, then grabbed the waistband of my underwear. What happened next almost moved too quickly. In a matter of seconds, he ripped off that last vestige of clothing, leaving me completely vulnerable.

"Be gentle with me, my prince," I heard myself moan.

Then before I had a chance to breathe, to prepare myself for the attack, he let out a long, hungry sigh and here he came.

Freddie entered me as carefully as possible; he knew I'd never done this before. But he was so big that the feel of just this first penetration completely devoured me. In a winded voice I didn't recognize, I cried, "Oh ... it's so _much_..."

But the true madness set in once he started thrusting. He wasted no time. Over, and over, and over, and over, as I cried out with every slow, passionate stroke and he groaned deliciously into my ear. It only really hurt the first time- and even then, not enough where I wanted him to stop. Far from it. Nothing in the world should have felt this good.

At last I felt his body shudder fitfully in my arms. He breathed my name one more time. The moment had arrived. I shut my eyes and dug my fingernails into his back to make sure I was bringing him with me. Freddie clenched his teeth and with an enraptured cry gave it up.

"OH, GOD!" I screamed. This sweet pain, this beautiful agony, this explosion bursting inside me- it was more than I could stand. I had no idea it was anything like this. In all my wildest, most sinful dreams, the fantasies I'd kept so quiet paled before this ecstasy.

When he had finished, Freddie's elbows buckled, and he collapsed against me. He let his head rest a moment against the side of my face. The only sounds I could hear were our hearts slamming against each other's, while Freddie's and my heavy breathing gradually slowed. I put my hand in his damp, curling hair and gently ran my fingers through it. We lay quietly like this for a while. Neither one of us wanted to be first to pull away.

"Did I hurt you, darling?" Freddie whispered finally. His lips nuzzled my neck.

"Oh, no," I gasped. "I'm all right... Are you?"

"For the first time in my life... yes." He kissed my jaw, then propped himself up and kissed my lips with a frantic gentleness.

"I love you," he said. "I love you so much, Julia."

"And I love you, Daddy."

His eyes widened a little. "What did you say?"

"Hm?"

"What did you just call me?"

I was rather surprised myself. _Daddy? Where did that come from?_

Then again, I had heard rumors that he liked to be called by that name... and that he liked it a _lot_. So I decided to tease him.

"Oh," I hummed, touching his face. "You mean, Daddy?"

"That's what I thought you said." His breathing started to deepen again.

I rubbed my knee against his back, which glistened with a soft glaze of perspiration. "What about it?"

He swallowed. "Darling, you, um... probably shouldn't call me that."

"Why not, Daddy?" Now I was going out of my way to sound naughty- which wasn't a task. He had gone easy on me for my first. But now I knew what to expect... and I wanted _more_.

"Because..." he said, kissing my lips, "I don't... think you could handle-"

"Daddy," I sighed, "you make me feel like a child."

The kisses became much more insistent, his temperature rising higher. Our hearts were racing once again. And the look in his eyes nearly killed me.

"I'm warning you," he growled.

I breathed against his neck and moaned as seductively as I could, "Take me, Daddy... take me _now_..."

Freddie grinned. I was in for it.

" _Why, you little slut_..."

He kissed me hard, this time biting my bottom lip before he pulled back. Lips gave way to tongues in a matter of seconds. Putting both hands on my breasts and squeezing, he began to moan deep down in his throat- a literal purr. He apparently was far from finished with me, from the way he drew back, letting his hands and mouth slide slowly down my body as he pulled away, and knelt before me, leaning over my bottom half.

I whispered, or started to whisper, "What are y-" but my question was drowned in the waves of ecstasy that crashed down upon me when he began doing things to me I never dreamed could be done. Oh, those hands- and that tongue. I clawed at the sheets and heaved his name; it was the only thing I knew how to say right then. It was so dirty, so erotic, I should have been ashamed, but I couldn't get enough of it.

"Now me," he ordered. "Do it to me."

He rolled onto his back, providing me easy access. I wasn't afraid anymore. Licking my lips, I closed my eyes and bent down.

"Oh, Daddy..." I moaned, then opened my mouth to receive him.

Freddie began to groan so passionately, shouting my name as I dizzily obeyed. There I knelt, my hands gripping his hips, clinging to him for dear life as I performed this act upon him. Soon his hips started to buck, and his moans sounded almost painful. But I wasn't finished; in fact, that only made it hotter. My head moved up and down with him. This is what he did to me. That night, I was a slave to his body, and he was a slave to mine.

Suddenly he reached down after at least a full minute of this and grabbed me by my hair, pulling my mouth away from him and gasping, "You're teasing again, baby; now I have to punish you."

Next thing I knew, he had rolled over to be on top. I opened up, thinking I was ready, but I wasn't. However gentle he had been the first time, there was no such care taken now as he pushed roughly inside, the sensation making us cry out in almost one voice. All I could do was let him drive himself into me and pray I didn't lose my very soul to this man- the only thing I could claim as all mine any longer.

But then he started whispering.

Freddie hissed, "Do you... love me?"

I could barely get the word out. "Yes..."

"I can't hear you."

"Oh, yes," I moaned.

" _Louder_."

" _Yes_!"

"Yes, who?" he demanded.

"Yes, Fre- _oh-_ Yes, Freddie-"

"Then why do you wa- _ahhhh_... wanna leave me?"

That was too complicated a question, all I could was shake my head and say "No..."

"What?"

" _No_!"

He was thrusting faster now, and harder. "Swear to me, Ju- _ohh_... Julia. Sw- swear you - _ah_ \- won't go."

I clenched my teeth. "...Go...?"

"Swear it. _Ah_ \- Now."

"But I- oh, _Daddy_ , wha- OH!"

Freddie seemed to forget how to be gentle altogether. It wasn't just passionate; now it was brutal. Almost violent. He held nothing back. Now, it hurt- but still I wanted more. I wanted everything he had to give. Faster. Faster.

"SWEAR TO ME!" he shouted.

I gasped, "I- I swear!"

" _Again_ ," he moaned.

"I sw- swear. Yes, I sw- Yes. _Yes_."

"AGAIN!"

My voice was hoarse and maniacal as I yelled, "Yes, Daddy _, Yes! Yes! YES! Oh BABY, **YES! OH**_!"

The pace verged on unbearable, and Freddie pushed so hard now the bed was ramming loudly against the wall. My nails dug deeper into his flesh, clinging to him as though the force would split me in half should I dare let go. This man was breaking me, reshaping me, turning me into something I never thought I could be. And I in sweet, agonizing surrender, happily gave in to him.

It was here we climaxed a second time, and if possible it was even more incredible than the first. I would have screamed again, but I didn't have the strength. It was over. He had consumed me. There wasn't anything left of me that didn't belong to him now. I was his creation- his monster, just as he was my monster. I was now, quite literally, his Harley Quinn, happily chained and bound by love, the proud possession of my own personal Mr. J.

In another life, I might have called this love bordering on toxic, smothering, perhaps even a little psychotic. But that night it was enough for me to know that what I felt burning in my heart was indeed love- and a crushingly strong one at that.

Satisfied, and exhausted, Freddie went limp across me again, his chest heaving. He stayed inside a little longer than before, looking deep into my eyes and kissing me one more time.

" _Freddie_..."

Very slowly my prince pulled away and rolled off. His fierce, relentless body was bathed in sweat, and even now he was trying to catch his breath; that last had taken a lot out of him. Still he stayed close to me, letting his fingers play in my hair while I lay there and attempted to understand what just happened.

For a moment or two I couldn't move. I felt like every ounce of energy had been leeched from my body. Freddie kept watching me; he let his hand drift from my hair to the side of my face, sliding against my throat, across my collar bone until finally it came to rest gently upon my breast. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

Freddie kissed my cheek. "Are you all right _now_ , Julia?" he whispered.

I shook my head, a pleased little smile spreading across my face. I began to laugh suddenly.

He frowned, confused. "...What is it?"

"...Just wondering," I whispered. "What the neighbors must be thinking..."

He chuckled a little. "They're thinking, 'Oh, my God, what an absolute vixen he's got there.'"

I shrugged. "I learn."

"Yes, but, I mean... wow."

"Wow is good, right?"

"Oh, yeah."

"How good?"

"A 'more than worth the wait,' kind of good. Had I known it would be like that... well, let's just say you got off easy for a long time."

"Did I?" I smiled wider. I put my hand on his fuzzy chest, feeling his heart beat softly against it.

Freddie touched my lips. "How about you?"

I pretended to mull the question. "Oh, it was fine-"

" _Fine?!"_ Freddie thundered playfully. "My dear, you should have seen the way your eyes rolled back in your head as you meowed for more."

"Was I meowing?"

"It's the cutest thing, you make sexy little meow sounds when you're in the throes of orgasm. Fine, my ass-"

He would have said more, but I leaned up to stop his mouth with mine, pulling away to say, "I love you, and you know I'm messing with you. It was- oh, God, it was beyond anything."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah- and your ass is indeed quite fine, by the way."

Freddie's lips curled into a grin. "Come here," he hissed, seizing me in his arms. I shrieked and struggled in his grasp, as we wrestled a while like clumsy kittens rolling back and forth across his bed, laughing freely.

Suddenly Freddie stopped and held me still. His beautiful eyes shone in the dark. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes, I really do think your ass is-"

He laughed. "No, you goose. I meant- I meant, what you swore. Did you mean it? That you won't go?"

"I won't leave if you won't leave," I said.

"Angel, I'll never leave you."

I touched his face. "Never?"

"Never, ever. You complete me. There's no way."

I smiled, basking in the warm rays of his love. I let the words roll back and forth in my head. "You complete me." This man beside me, who had been my obsession, my friend, and my nemesis, now my lover. All in less than two weeks- thirteen days, by tomorrow.

"But you," Freddie asked again, "you won't leave me?"

"Never," I whispered firmly.

"What's that?" he said, his words quivering.

I lifted my head and looked straight into his eyes. "I'm yours."

As soon as I said this, he gathered me to him and held me tightly. "My Julia," he sighed, his voice thick. "My beautiful Julia..."

I choked back tears of joy as I held onto him, praying he'd never let go. Dr. K was forgotten. My family was forgotten. My old life, my world, my plans, my future, were forgotten. Freddie was all- my beginning, my end, and everything in between. I knew nothing except that I loved him and I wanted him and I needed him more than anything else in the world, and nothing could keep me away from him as long as he loved me back.

It occurred to me, that I perhaps didn't have to go home. Perhaps, I never had to. I was already there. Home was wherever my dear prince happened to be. And here in Freddie's arms, listening to him breathe, his heart thumping just inches away from mine- if this wasn't home, then nothing was.

We had worn each other out. One final kiss, two final "I love you"s, then Freddie rolled onto his back, and I curled up right beside him, sliding my arms around his warm chest.

"Sweet dreams, my love," he whispered.

"Sweet dreams."

Together, we drifted away into a quiet, dreamless sleep, my last joyous thought being, _Home at last._

 


	65. The Morning After

Only moments after I'd closed my eyes, it seemed, I abruptly woke to meet the next morning.  A soft rain fell outside, pattering gently upon the terrace.  I pushed my hair back, which had fallen wildly over my face, and opened my eyes a crack to see the room was still rather dark- my guess, about a quarter past seven or so.  I felt around on either side of me and found I was alone in bed.  

For a split second I dared to wonder if I'd only dreamed last night.  But then I moved my legs a bit and winced at the sudden, stabbing ache between them.  On instinct I lifted the covers to see what was the matter, and found I was stark naked.  Memories of the night before flooded my mind, a little smile curving my lips.

_We made love last night_ , I thought to myself, as though I still couldn't fully believe it.  _Oh, my God.  I slept with him.  He slept with me.  We made love._

I was a girl no longer.  The concept intimidated me a little.  I had never thought of myself as anything else, really.  But last night, as soon as that nightgown had fallen from my frame, and we lay down together, I stopped being a girl- a child.  In one fell swoop, Freddie had stripped me of that title and given me another. Now, I was a woman.

And then it hit me.  In quiet panic I added, _So, now what?  
_

Everything I had pushed aside last night to make room for Freddie and the endless love he brought with him, I remembered.

My first thought was of my parents, and what they would think if they, in a purely hypothetical situation, were to burst into his boudoir now to see me lying naked in Freddie's bed, or last night, to find the two of us tangled up in passion.  

Granted, neither of my parents were even out of middle school in 1977.  But still I could hear their foreboding words now, playing back in my ear as loudly as if they were speaking to me in person- the heartbroken announcement that I would have to find myself somewhere else to live.  My parents had never lied to me; I loved them, and I believed them.  

_But I don't live with my parents anymore_ , I rationalized.  _I live with Freddie._

All the same, I had given this man the very thing I swore to myself I would save until safe and sound within the bounds of marriage.  Freddie had entirely unraveled me, it seemed, my moral fabric so frayed and threadbare I scarcely recognized it as my own.  For thirteen days, now, and really even less than that, considering the first day was only a night- I had been a mystery in more ways than one. Now he knew my heart, my soul, my mind, and my body.  

_Doesn't it work both ways, though?  I know his, as well.  Even after I've told Freddie everything, he's let me know him so intimately, it's wonderful._

But it was still a different dynamic.  I thought of what Mary had said to me, how Freddie adored newness. I loved him just as much as I did before I gave myself to him, perhaps even more.  But I was an opened box, a solved mystery.  Now that he had taken me, and done quite a solid job of it, would I still mean anything to him?  Would the pale light of this morning weaken the promises made in last night's sultry darkness?

_I still have a way out_ , I reminded myself, thinking of the Relic still sitting on the counter _.  There's a safety net, if it turns out that yesterday doesn't define this tomorrow.  I don't want to use it, but it's there.  
_

So thinking, I edged out of bed.  Once I was up and walking around, I felt much better.  Freddie had indeed been kind of rough with me the second time.  Not that I was complaining.  I'd never smiled so hard as now, while I stretched my arms up over my head and walked up to Freddie's bureau to find a generic top to wear in case he should mosey back in over the next minute.

As I paraded into the hall, I heard a little soft singing coming from downstairs.  _Oh, good, he didn't leave yet.  I want to see him off before he heads to Wessex._   

I paused a moment and listened, recognizing the song almost immediately.  I covered my mouth in surprise, tried not to laugh too loudly.  Never in my life did I ever expect to hear Freddie knock about the kitchen while singing his own funny version of "MMMBop."  All he could remember was the chorus, which he scatted pretty nicely: "Mmm-Bop/ bop be da, doo bop/ doo de da be dap, doo bop/ bop be da doo... yeah yeah..."  

Vaguely I was reminded of his impromptus in "Under Pressure."  _Hmm_ , I mused facetiously.  _Did Freddie influence Hanson- or did Hanson influence Freddie?_

But now I too had "MMMBop" stuck in my head.  Muttering the song's bridge under my breath, I rushed into the green bedroom to dress in something at least half-decent so I could join him downstairs for tea, and make a little breakfast if he was hungry.  

I heard slow, careful footsteps tread the stairs.  I glanced behind me, waiting for him to waltz into view, but I didn't see him.  So I turned and went back to business.

Not ten seconds later, I felt spidery fingertips crawling up my back.  I whirled, and the next thing I knew, Freddie had me locked in a warm embrace I couldn't escape if I tried.  My worries wilted, and shrank down almost to nothing.  

"But, soft!" he whispered dramatically in my ear.  "What light through yonder window breaks?"  He drew back and looked into my eyes, laying a hand against my cheek.  "It is the east, and Julia is the sun.  Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon... uh..."

Freddie paused, and blinked.  "Sorry, that's all I can remember right- No, wait! Here's the rest... ah, Kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief.  Um, be not her maid, since she is envious, her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it- cast it off."

I smiled, deciding I had never loved this man so much as I did now, when he was in such endearing earnest, with his cloud of dark hair still in a mess from last night, standing there fumbling through the balcony scene in _Romeo and Juliet_.  "You had me at 'But, soft.'"

"She speaks!  Oh, speak again, bright angel! For thou art, um... Oh, f---.  I can't remember. Sorry."

I laughed.  "Freddie, that's the most Shakespeare anybody's ever quoted at me, and it was beautiful."

"Mmm.  Let's try this again, shall we?" he murmured, drawing me back towards him, this time for a kiss.  

"Good morning, my prince," I whispered.

"Hello, angel."

I rolled my eyes.  "You should know by now, I'm no angel."

Freddie shook his head.  "You're _my_ angel, and that's enough for me."

My cheeks flushed and eyes lowered, as I wondered how I ever came to doubt him in the first place.  _We're so stubborn_ , I thought to myself.  _Why didn't we do this before?_

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"Mm-hm. Did you?"

As dark as it was, I saw that unmistakable gleam. "Of course, darling," he murmured. "Everything I do with you is done well."

I giggled. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

"Too long," he smiled.

"Fair enough." I pressed my forehead to his.  "Kiss me Eskimo style, Mark."

With a soft, contented sigh, Freddie nuzzled his nose against mine, then, and just held onto me for a moment.  Before too long, he let go and lifted up the tea tray he'd set down by the door.  "I brought the tea up, so we can take it in there."

"Oh, splendid," I crooned.

"By the way, I had the most wonderful dream last night," Freddie said over his shoulder.  "I dreamed that someone who looked and sounded just like you was in my bed last night, and we ravished each other- oh."

"What?"

He nodded toward the bed, with its smushed pillows and rumpled sheets, and remarked, tongue in cheek, "I, uh, suppose I wasn't dreaming after all."

"I suppose not," I sighed, folding my arms.

"Good."  Freddie slipped off the robe and climbed back on top of the bed.  He was shirtless, and that was about it.  I was half-disappointed, but I knew better than to say so as I settled back in beside him.  I had learned my lesson well: any kind of encouragement in that area, and I would be flat on my back in seconds.  It was open season now.

Since we considered seven to still be rather early, we spent a little time snuggled up together in bed, chatting and drinking our tea.  Three and a half hours of sleep likely didn't do much to balance out nearly two whole days going without it, yet Freddie was the one who saw to it that neither of us drifted away again.  But honestly, I didn't mind one bit.  He was being far too cute for me to care.  With a few exceptions (i.e. Freddie's side lamentation that he'd only finished two songs for the album so far), we didn't really say anything that contributes anything to the story, we were so goofy and only seemed to egg each other on, ultimately sounding like two smitten, adolescent idiots.

"Guess what," he would whisper.

"What?"

"Guess."

"What am I guessing?"

"Just guess."

"Okay... uh... can I have a hint?"

"No hints."

"You're not very helpful."

"So do you give up?"

I laughed. "Yes."

"I love you."

"You do?"

"Like crazy."

"I love you, too."

"How much?"

"To Andromeda and back."

"Don't you want to know how much I love you?"

"Tell me."

"To Andromeda and back, twice."

"Copycat."

"No, you're the copycat."

"But I said it first!"

"That doesn't matter."

"Oh, you drive me nuts, you know that?"

"Mmm.  I do love it when you talk dirty to me..."

Things like that.  But Freddie did mention one thing I thought was crucial: Bob was apparently a photographer with some magazine, and the pictures he had taken last night were to find their way into the tabloids in one way or another. _Thank God, he didn't take any of me. All over the Internet (eventually) is the last thing I want to be.  
_

And then I remembered again, that as long as I was here, fulfilling my role as a real life Forrest Gump _,_ living with a very famous rock star who was about to get a whole lot more recognizable in the States (especially after _News of the World_ was released) _,_ I was taking that risk of being captured by a journalist or a photographer and then forever attached to Freddie.  I had been swimming in dangerous waters merely by standing too close to him in public; now that we were sleeping together, I may as well have taped a bright red sign to my chest with an arrow pointing up and big bold letters across the front saying "FOR SALE TO HIGHEST BIDDER: THIS BIG JUICY PIECE OF GOSSIP." _  
_

What was more, I had had no place in the conga line of lovers before last night, and there was no place in Freddie's life for me before I stumbled into it two weeks ago. There was no telling what this did to the course of my own life, let alone his- and those of Joe, David, Mary, etc.  No doubt, the future had altered.  Freddie had never had a lover named Julia, or Eve- or Angel, for that matter.  (Now, he did call Minsy a "cherub," but that's another story...)What had this done to the world I knew? _  
_

"There's that faraway look again," Freddie noted.  "Why so preoccupied, dear?" _  
_

"I was just thinking," I said.  "About the future."

"Whose?  Yours or mine?" _  
_

"Just the broad idea- the Future, in general."

He put his arm around my shoulders.  "Go on."

"Well, I mean- I wasn't a part of your world before, and... I am now."

"Yes, you are," he cooed.  "Isn't it grand?"

"It's stupendous," I replied.  "Thing is... everything's probably so different now."

"Different from what?" Freddie said.  "The way it used to be?"

I nodded.

He chewed on that, and shrugged.  "So?"

"So, the world I came from before- it's changed so much.  The Butterfly Effect, don't you know.  Go back and change one action in one person's life- say one word less, or one word more, in a single moment- and you change the world forever."

Freddie looked at me.  "My dear, you make it sound like that's a bad thing."

"It could be."

"Can you honestly tell me, Julia, that a little bit of a change in the world would hurt?  F--- it, what if this wasn't the way it was meant to be from the very start? Did you ever think of that?"

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't argue with that.  He was right.  Why did it have to be a bad thing?  Up till now, nothing seemed to have really changed.  Even after Freddie somehow quietly chartered the _Starship_ , and we almost went down in it, not a single piece of musical history (that I had stored on my phone, anyway) had altered.  Perhaps Freddie reading my journal, or me finally giving in to him, had put the final death nail into my world's coffin.  Or perhaps not.  Either way, maybe, just maybe, that wasn't necessarily so horrible.

"You believe in Fate, too, eh?" I asked.  

"I believe things happen for a reason, so I, um- you could say that.  Made in heaven, perhaps.  I don't know.  I'm sure you're much more well-versed on the divine side of things."

I rested my head on his shoulder.  "I love the way you think, Freddie."

He smiled.  "Give us a kiss."

"What kind?"

"This kind."  Placing his hands on either side of my face, Freddie drew me towards him and pressed his lips to mine.  What could I do but put my arms around him and let it happen.  

Oh, those kisses.  Each one was different, yet each one was perfect. The irony, the irony.  Love, I had, and so much of it- and hope for the future, a new future perhaps, for us both.  But I was not strong.  Of all the things I had to be lacking in, why did it have to be strength- or, to put it another way, why did it have to be faith?

He pulled back just a bit, and whispered, "You know, I could get used to this."

"Used to what?"

"You and me.  I'm rather liking the act myself."

"The trapeze?"

"Mmm."  The look in his eyes changed.

"So are you off to Wessex again today?" I touched his face.

"Always," he muttered, pushing his face against my hand. I loved it when he did that. Freddie was such a tactile person. He so needed to touch, and be touched- that constant affirmation...

"Oh, speaking of which. When are you guys going to record 'We Are the Champions'?"

"Very soon," Freddie whispered, pausing to swallow hard. "A... few days, maybe..."

"I'd like to watch that," I mused. "If I didn't get in the way, of course."

"You wouldn't..." he trailed off. His left arm fit around my waist, and he pulled me closer. His temperature rose, his breathing deepened. 

I felt his right hand slide away from my face and press against my breast.  I blinked, knowing exactly where this was going.  My heart pounded with anticipation.  _The man's a machine._   But I also wanted to make him wait for it- heighten the desire, as it were, for a later time.  So I scooted away from him, my brow arching ever so slightly.

"Are you finished with the tea?" I asked.  "I'll take it downstairs if so."

I started to slide my feet to the floor when Freddie put his hand on my bare thigh.  "What's the hurry?" he murmured.

"No hurry," I replied softly.  "It's just, the room's a mess all by itself.  Get this tray out of the way, you know..."

He had to be able to feel me getting warmer.  "Do you have to?  Right this instant?"

With a little grin, I peeled his fingers off my leg.  "I'll be right back."

"Oh, f---ing let me do it, if it's so important," he said.  "I know you, you'll take forever and a day to just set the tray down."

"Freddie," I pouted.  "That is not so-"

"You know it's true, you dreadful tease," he hissed.  "Give it here."  So saying, he hopped off the bed, with the tray in his hands.  Just before he stepped out of view, I wolf-whistled.

Freddie whirled, forehead furrowed in surprise.

I just smiled and folded my arms, my eyes taking their time in sizing him up.  "Oh, yes," I decided. "Quite fine, indeed."

His jaw clenched as he instructed me, "Don't.  Move."  And he disappeared with the tray.

Freddie had said to stay where I was.  So, naturally, I leapt off the bed and darted into the bathroom.  I needed to get cleaned up anyway.  

I closed the door but didn't lock it, and ripped off Freddie's shirt.  Stepping into the shower stall, I twisted the knob and let the warm water gush down over my head.  We both needed to exercise a little self-control anyhow.  As much as I loved him, as crazy as he made me (in more ways than one), I needed to rein myself in, even if just a slight bit.  From a practical standpoint, we couldn't go on making love so freely anyway, not when one considered what might result from continuous unprotected sex.

Suddenly the stall door burst open, and there he stood, as bare as the day he was born.  I could feel the slow caress of his gaze as he took me all in.  _Uh-oh, I'm toast._

"I thought I said, don't move," he whispered.

I smiled.  "You did."

Before I knew what was happening Freddie jumped into the shower with me and pinned me against the tile wall, his hands moving in, snaking all over, entwining in my long, streaming hair.

"When will you learn, my dear?" he heaved between kisses as the water poured over him, drenching his hair and clearly excited body.

I swept his dark, wet bangs off his forehead, revealing that subtle widow's peak.  "Who wants to know?"

"Oh, that game is so old, darling," he whispered.  "I much prefer this one.  Don't you?"

I wrapped my arms around him.  "Freddie, you are incorrigible."  

That was the last intelligent thing I said for the next hour.


	66. Wake-Up Call

"I think Rudy's here," I announced while making up the bed.

"Oh, yes?" Freddie called from the bathroom.

"Yes," I said.  "I hear someone knocking at the door."

"Is somebody ringing the bell?"

"No, I think someone's knocking at the door-" 

"I could have sworn I heard somebody ringing the bell."

I was about to ask why we were even having this discussion.  Suddenly I realized what he was doing.  "Really?" I murmured to myself.

Freddie poked his head out and grinned at me.  "Do me a favor, darling: open the door, and let him in."

I burst out laughing.  "You're so silly."

"No, I just feel marvelous, that's all."

In spite of what had taken place as little as fifteen minutes ago, both of us were behaving respectably, feeling as fresh as the new, gently rainwashed day.  While I smoothed the bed sheets, Freddie was busy smoothing the curls the shower had made of his hair- a task he was going to have to cut short fairly soon, or else be late.  He had been singing random melodies to himself, little "dee dee dees" and whatnot, trying to see what worked and what needed work.  My lips were curled in a permanent smile as I listened to him go.  The smallest things he did made me so utterly happy.

"Now I have that song stuck in my head," I muttered softly.  "Thank you so, so very much."

"Not at all," he chirped.  

I heard a couple more knocks.  "I'll be right back," I said.

"Hold it, hold it, darling, what have you done with my shirt?"

"It's right where I left it." I pointed.  "Right there on the chair."

Freddie padded out of the bathroom and saw his ironed, short-sleeved button down draped over the back of the chair in the corner.  "Ah!  There it is.  Thank you, darling, that saves me a good bit of time.  'Well, you're just seventeen, and all you wanna do is disapp...' Julia, why don't you like Roger?"

"Why do you ask?" I asked.

"Idle curiosity.  Aside of the bet, I mean, you obviously weren't too keen on him even before you met him.  What was it?"

"It's not that I didn't like him, I just- I was just rather apathetic toward him, is all," I replied.  "But I admit, he is quite cute."

"Oh, is he?" Freddie said dryly.

"Yup," I answered.  "He's got a very pretty face."

"Mm-hm.  I see how it is." 

"See what?"

"You _do_ think he's pretty.  Not just cute, but pretty."

"Oh, now, don't you dare start.  You asked!"

He mumbled something under his breath, something about how I just thought _he_ was cute.  Freddie pulled on the shirt, his back to me as he mildly sulked. _I can't keep up with this guy, he's so moody._

I sighed.  "I would go on to say that you, by comparison, are not pretty, but gorgeous, and there's a fire in your soul that Roger couldn't hope to match- and it's that I found, and still find, absolutely captivating; but you're being moody, so I'll wait to tell you that once you're feeling better."

So saying, I started for the stairs, when Freddie put his hand on my arm.  

"Sorry, darling, you were going to say something?" he purred.

I rolled my eyes.  "Are you feeling better?"

"Oh, much."

"In a minute," I quipped, smiling.  "I've got to let Rudy in."

"Hurry back, then, and button me up.  I'll do it all wrong otherwise.  I'll make sure of it."

So I hustled down the stairs, whistling the quirky Paul McCartney tune.  I felt so good, I wondered if it was even healthy to feel this level of good. _So this is what it's like to love someone you know loves you,_ I mused lightly.  _It's like heaven._

Sure enough, I found Rudy waiting on the stoop when I flung the door open, with Freddie's Rolls instead of the Jaguar sitting by the curb behind him.  As soon as he saw me, his jaw dropped.  

"Come on in," I sang.  "How's Clarence?"

"Clarence is- uh, well," he replied.  "How are you?"

I nodded.  "Quite well, as well," I said, waving my hand for Rudy to enter the flat.  

When I closed the door behind him, I took his hands and kissed them.  "Thank you," I whispered.  

Rudy cocked his head, pretended not to know what I meant.

"You were right," I explained briefly.  "Thank you."  I let go of him, then, and suggested, "Care for a cup of tea?"

 He looked like he wanted to ask all kinds of questions, but he didn't. Instead, he sighed quietly and smiled, as he answered me with a quiet shake of the head.  Good old reliable Rudy.  A truly special man.  I still miss him.

"Freddie's still up there," I murmured.  "Should be down in a minute or two."

It was here that Freddie sauntered downstairs, his shirt still unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up just a bit.  He had Tiffany cradled like a baby in his arms.  _Why doesn't he want the world to know what an old softie he is?_ I asked myself rhetorically. _Why does he have to be such a pompous ass in public?  He's so lovable like this._

He crooned jokingly, "All right, if one of you would mind tying my shoelaces and the other one buttoning my shirt, I'd very much appreciate it." 

I looked at his feet.  "Your shoes don't have laces."

"Very perceptive.  Then do button me up, please, dear."  He set the calico on the floor.

I marched up to him and began fastening the buttons.  "You can be such a baby sometimes," I hummed softly.

"There's a method to my madness," he whispered when I was about halfway up.  

"Really?"

I was answered with two large hands suddenly sliding down my back and squeezing my bottom.

Half of me wanted him to take it even further, but the other half was a little more self-conscious- and currently had control of my mouth.  "Rudy's standing right there," I hissed.  

"What of it?" Freddie looked up.  "Rudy, is this making you uncomfortable?"

Rudy stood there and tried to stifle a smile as he said, "Not really.  No."

My prince turned back to me.  "Julia, is this making _you_ uncomfortable?"

"You just don't stop, do you?" I murmured, half-smiling, but still clutching his lapels. Freddie chuckled when I reached behind me and pulled his hands away until I finished.  I only completed one more button when he told me that was enough.  _  
_

_Not surprising_ , I thought to myself.  _He wants to show off as much chest as is socially acceptable.  Can't say I blame him._   So thinking, I leaned in and kissed his exposed collar bone, then his neck.  Squabbles aside, I truly could not get enough of him, in any sense of the word.

"Speak for yourself, my love," he murmured, his lips finding mine and staying there.  _Good grief, we can't keep away from each other._

He shook his head as he pulled back, smiling.  "Wow."

"What?" I asked.

"Just thinking how thirteen days ago, you would have kicked up quite the fuss over me merely holding your hand for too long a time."

"I was nineteen and innocent then," I whispered.  "And you are a bad, bad influence."

"Yes, but you love me."

I nodded.  "I do, indeed.  But you're going to be late if you keep standing with me like this.  Rudy's waiting, aren't you, Rudy?"

"Are you really pushing me out of my own home?" Freddie laughed, backing away toward the front door behind Rudy.  

"I shall see you later, I hope!" I said, following them out to the car.  Freddie fitted his sunglasses (his aviators, not the star-shaped ones) across his eyes, and moved to slide into the back seat.

Suddenly Freddie turned.  "Wait a minute," he said, brows furrowing.  "You said you were nineteen then."

"I -was," I confirmed, blinking in confusion.  "Or negative twenty-one, the two are interchangeable."

"When, uh- when did you stop being nineteen?"

I thought it over.  That was a good question.  "Technically, let's see- I was born on December 9, and I was sent here on the 27th of November, so- that was thirteen days ago..." I ticked off the days on my hands, and blinked.  "Oh, cool."

Freddie folded his arms.  "So, tell me, when did you turn twenty?"

I opened my mouth, but then closed it.  "I'm not telling."

"Is it today?"

"No, July 13th is not my birthd-"

"Did you turn twenty years old today, regardless of what the actual date is?" Freddie clarified.

"Technically- yes," I conceded.  "I am officially twenty, be it positive or negative.  The ninth is thirteen days exactly from November 27th."

"So, _technically_ ," Freddie mimicked, "today is your birthday."

"Well, yes, I guess it is."

His eyes narrowed.  "And uh, when were you going to tell me, darling?"

"On the ninth of December, this year," I laughed.  "Would you get in the car, please?"

"Unbelievable!" Freddie exclaimed.  "You give me absolutely no time to plan anything-"

"I don't want anything!  You took me to Vegas!  That's more than too much all by itself!"

"That was for business reasons!  This is an entirely different situation, this is your f---ing birthday, my God!"

"Rudy, help!  He's turned into a wall!  Gone utterly deaf!"

"Again?" Rudy sighed dryly.

Amid Freddie's playful protests, we got him to sit down in the backseat.  "That's it," he cried, "I'm calling today a short day-"

"You promised yourself, Freddie, you'd get some serious work done!" I reminded him. "All night, if necessary!  To yourself, be true!"

Freddie sighed.  "Damn you," he muttered.  "Very well.  But you had better be here when I return."

"Where else would I go?" I said cheerily.  

He just looked at me, suddenly serious.  Freddie took my hand.  "Julia," he whispered.  "I mean it.  I've grown far too accustomed to your face."

"Darling, I'm not going anywhere," I assured him softly.  

"And as for this little matter of today being your birthday-"

I shook my head.  "Nope.  That's in December.  Believe me, I don't mind waiting another five months."

"You are indubitably the most peculiar woman I've ever met.  Can I at least buy you a cake?"

"Nope," I shook my head defiantly.  "My birthday is in December.  I am a Sagittarius, and a Sagittarius I shall stay."  Smiling, I touched his face.  "Besides, you're birthday present enough all by yourself."

Freddie gazed at me.  "I love you."

"And I love you."  So saying I leaned in for one more goodbye kiss.

"But, in a purely hypothetical scenario," Freddie added, "if I were to buy you a cake, what kind would you-"

I laughed.  "Would you please go?"

"You're in such a hurry to get me out of your hair," Freddie complained. "What have I done?"

If it were up to me, I would not have let the man out of my sight. But Freddie had set a goal for himself; he told me he wanted to be at the studio no later than nine-thirty that morning, and stay there till all his imagination and energy had been channeled into recorded musical perfection. He was going to write another song for the album if it killed him. Considering the man was quite a notorious trouper, that could take all day and reach far into the night. I had a plan for the day as well; though I had made up my mind to stay on with Freddie, I still needed something to occupy my time, whether that meant a job or something else just as enthralling.

"I'm not going to be a nuisance, for you, the band, or anybody," I informed him lightly. "Now, scat!"

Freddie sighed, "Good God! Don't start _that_ again!"

"I won't, I won't!" I cried in a theatrical voice, sweeping my arms. "Now, vamoose, before Brian starts getting comfortable! Slay them in the aisles! Knock 'em dead! And stuff like that!"

_Oh, dang, I do talk like him now. Nice. Whatever it is he's got, it's fatally contagious._

At last Freddie shut the car door, and the Rolls headed down the road towards the studio, Rudy laughing softly as he drove the car into the street.  My prince stuck his hand out the window and waved, until the car turned the corner and moved out of sight.

My feet didn't seem to touch the ground as I danced back into the flat.  I had heard people described as seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, but I had never experienced it myself due to my over-analytical nature.  But as I shut the front door and twirled gently about his home, I couldn't help but notice everything did indeed have a softer look about it, a rosier hue.  

I floated upstairs, decided to fix the fact that I wasn't wearing any makeup yet.  I sat before the mirror, first inserting my contacts.  One of them didn't go in properly, causing one eye to water up a bit before I pulled the lens out and inverted it to the right shape.  My mascara brush was poised over my left eye when I stopped, and peered closely at my face.  

For the first time, it fully occurred to me, how different I looked from the girl I was two weeks ago.  My cheekbones were sharper, and there still were slight dark circles under my eyes.  I expected those.  What I didn't anticipate seeing was the new, faint curve about the corners of my mouth- very much like Freddie's risque little smirk, but on a smaller scale.  And the expression in my eyes, too, had changed.  That gentle light of innocence was gone, replaced by a gleam not too unlike the one which appeared whenever Freddie was being tongue-in-cheek or suggestive.  Whether this was a result of him turning me inside out, a conscious effort to mold me in his image- or simply what bubbled to the surface now that he had unearthed the repressed, naughty parts of my soul, I couldn't say. But one thing was sure: I wasn't, nor would ever be, the same.

I was even starting to talk like him.  My American accent had indeed begun slipping through the cracks; whenever I said my "r's" now, they came out as "ah's;" my vowels were much rounder and more to the front of my mouth; and my consonants, especially the "t's" and "k" sounds, were much more crisp and clipped.  No wonder Joe mistook me for Freddie.  

_If this keeps up_ , I mused, _by the time my actual birthday does roll around, I will literally be a female version of him, except with lighter-colored hair- and better teeth._

As usual, it only took two minutes to put my face together.  I needed to hear a particular bouncy song from my generation.  So I put the Android up against the intercom microphone one more time (I think I used it more than Freddie ever did), and navigated to the track list of the one Maroon 5 album I had.  "Sunday Morning" from their first album- you didn't get more _la vie en rose_ than that.  

(Oh, did you think it would be a different song, considering the title of this chapter?  Maybe you're right, perhaps it should have been "Wake-Up Call"; I might have been better prepared for the one that actually came.)

The cats had already eaten, yet even now they swirled subtly around my feet, hoping I had forgotten.  "You don't fool me," I murmured softly.  "I got an elephant's memory.  Kudos for trying, though."

I decided I would have one more cup of tea before hitting the streets.  Singing out loud with Adam, I went back to the kitchen and fixed it up, nabbing a banana in the process and calling it breakfast, just as Freddie had done a little while ago.  My backpack was in the laundry room; on a whim I took out my journal and a black pen.  I hadn't written anything since Day 8, and that last awful, misunderstood line was the final word.  I intended to change that.

Flipping to a new page, I wrote, very briefly, yet in all seriousness:

**_Day 13: To know him is to love him..._ **

_**And I do.** _

"Sunday Morning" was winding down now, and replaced by a more soulful, even more anachronistic, but just as bouncy, song by the Avett Brothers called "Ain't No Man."  I grinned to myself, and dared to assume, one more time: _It's going to be a beautiful day._

Unfortunately, as I had learned the hard way so many times before, Life has a very dark sense of humor.

I was just putting the tea kettle in the sink to clean it, when the synthesizer of doom began playing alongside the Avett Brothers: _Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP-_

_Ugh, them again,_ I sighed.  And I almost didn't answer it.  My God, not a day passes that I don't wish I hadn't answered it.  

But I was curious.  I wondered if anything had changed due to me gumming up the works for the last two weeks.  How deeply had my interference cut into the course of Time?  I wanted to know the extent of the damage- or improvement, for that matter.

So I answered it.

"Hello!" K shouted into my ear.  "Please tell me it's you, Julia."

I smiled.  "Hi, K," I said softly.  "It's me, the guinea pig."

A huge roar of relieved joy exploded on the other end.  "At last!  My God, over two hours, we've been waiting to hear from you!" K cried over it.  _  
_

_His voice is just as young as it was in Vegas.  My, my._

"We lost you a little while ago, " C cut in.  "Was that you?"

"Um... yes," I explained.  "But you see, I was just so overwhelmed by the sound of K's, uh, voice, I accidentally pushed the button to end the call.  Sorry."

"That's all right, we have you now," K said.  

_Yeah, that's what you think._

"Julia, we have some good news and some bad news," C informed me.  "What do you want first?"

"Bad news first."

"Okay, bad news.  Your Nokia is almost out of power.  According to our data, it's at ten percent now."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, there's only enough juice in the battery to get in maybe one or two more calls, not including this one, and then it's dead, and the only way you're getting back here is the slow way." _  
_

"Right," I nodded, silently laughing with delight and praying the Relic's death came quickly.  "So what's the good news?"

"The good news is, T-Rod is fully operational," K said.  "And we are ready to bring you in now if you are ready to go." _  
_

"Terrific," I yawned.  _How do I tell them I'll never be ready?  
_

"Also, what with all the calls we've made to John, and the data we collected indirectly through him, we were able to get a rough estimate of the way time is passing on your end as well.  It's around nine over there, in the morning, isn't it?"

"Eight fifty-seven, yes," I confirmed.  "Wow, you're good."

"Nice," K said, sounding very pleased with himself.

"Are you ready to go?" C asked, cutting to the chase.  

"Uh, yeah," I replied.  "About that."

C hesitated.  "What do you mean, about that?"

"I'm, uh... I'm happy here," I told him.  "I'm very happy, in fact."

"So?"

"So, I don't want to come back."

A long pause.  "What did you say?"

"Let me rephrase that."  I cleared my throat.  "I'm not coming back."

K's voice sounded a little more shivery than normal.  "Are you still with him?"

"Who?"

"Freddie.  Is that the guy you're with?"

"Wow, you people really do know everything.  Yes, I'm still with him."

"Did you get his autograph?"

"Steve, is that really a relevant question right now?" C took over the mike.  "Julia, did you sleep with him?"

"C," I rolled my eyes, "Is _that_ a really relevant question?"

"Very relevant, actually," he snarled.  "You did, didn't you?"

I sighed.  "Ah, Dr. C, how you do run on.  By the way, that's none of your business."

"You slept with him," C concluded, not inaccurately.  "Not that I care, I just- look, Julia, regardless of whatever necrophilia you've been engaging in with Freddie, you're coming back.  I just hope you understand that."

"Why should I?" I asked, my voice hardening a little.  "I'm happy.  He makes me happy."

"So what?  You agreed, Julia.  You agreed to come back.  So we're bringing you back."

"I'd like to see you try," I whispered, stroking my bare neck.

Dr. C called to someone a little distance away, "Are we locked on, Stuart?"

"Locked on, sir," came the muffled reply.  "Whenever you're ready."

"Now!"

A couple of seconds of silence.  Then, I asked them, "Am I there yet?"

"Something's not- Julia, you're not wearing your tracker!" Dr. C shouted.

"Oh, whoops.  I guess you guys are out of luck then."

Dr. C let off a little steam by sending a few incoherent lines of profanity over the airwaves.

K spoke up.  "Julia, think of your family!  Your home!"

"I'm in love, K," I whispered.  "As cliche and corny as that sounds, I'm so in love, and it's something I've never been before.  And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"In love." C murmured.  "In love with Freddie Mercury.  Oh, that's rich."

"Why?"

C sighed, his voice becoming cold and calculating.  "Julia, I didn't want to have to do this," he said.  "I was afraid I would have to when you hung up on us earlier.  I don't want to have to say this to you.  But you leave me no choice."

"What are you talking about?"

Dr. C cleared his throat, and very calmly, very evilly, explained.

"He doesn't love you, Julia."

"How would you know?" I snapped defensively.  "Did you ask him?"

"Think about it," he said.  "Think about what you know about Freddie.  What _everybody_ knows about Freddie.  He was all about sex, sex, and more sex.  Love rarely entered into it."

"He told me he loves me-"

"But for how long, Julia?" he countered.  "How long will your love- or, more accurately, your sex- satisfy him, especially considering he's gay?"

My insides were trembling.  "He's not gay, he's b-"

"How long?" he demanded.  "How long, till the love runs out?"

In my head, I was screaming; outwardly I spluttered, "He- he wants me to stay!  He made me swear last night-"

"You know, maybe right now, he does quasi love you, for whatever reason," C conceded.  "But it won't last, Julia, you know that.  You _know_ that."

"Tim," K protested, "That's enough-"

But C was on a roll.  "How long, before the fire dies, and you're cast aside, with nowhere to go and nothing to do- or, worse yet, you are reduced to becoming another of his, ahem, _obligations_?  You know what I mean."

Against my will, names of Freddie's obligations flooded my head- people who basically became his courtesans, living in apartments he bought for them, living off his good graces, until finally the interest became so nonexistent that it simply vanished, and both parties moved on. 

But still I cried, grasping desperately at straws, "But maybe that's all changed!  Maybe because I came-"

"That's just it, Julia!" C declared in sadistic triumph.  "Nothing has changed!  NOTHING!  Whatever difference you think you've made in his life, you're- you're not even a blip on the radar!  We've checked everywhere under both your names!  And we found zilch."

"You're lying."

"Nothing is any different!  Do you understand?  He's still dead!  He's-"

"YOU'RE LYING!" I screamed.  

"No, Julia, this is the cold, hard truth talking. Welcome back to Reality, Alice, but it's time you quit chasing the white rabbit."

"Sweet Jesus," I breathed after a moment.  "Oh, Sweet Lord in heaven..."

"You do have a choice," C concluded.  "But it's not much of one. If you come back, he will forget you, but you get your life back, and all will be as it was; if you stay, you two are splitting up in a matter of days, if even that, and there's nothing you can do. I just hope you can live with that, if you do stay."

My eyes closed, and I sank into a chair.  "Oh, God..."

"Make your choice, Julia-"

"Tim, stop it," K cut in at last.  "Give the girl a chance to breathe.  You just unloaded on her, let her think."

C paused again, and took a deep breath.  My head was spinning, but not in the good way.  It was the kind of whirl that makes one want to throw up.  I clenched the Relic so tightly it stunned me the thing didn't break under the pressure.  _Dr. C, I want to kill you._

"Fine," he muttered at last.  "I guess there's enough power left in the Relic for one more call.  We'll give you till your midnight-"

"Tim," K said again, his voice much more pleading.  

"All right, all right.  I'll give you till noon tomorrow, your tomorrow.  I guess- I guess you ought to have one more night with him, considering how you feel about him.  By noon, though, I need you to have made up your mind."

I was silent.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," I croaked.

"It is your choice, fundamentally.  I'm not trying to be cruel, I just need you to wake up and accept it: There's no way this ends with the two of you staying together.  Underst-?"

The connection fizzled.  I whispered quietly, "Noon tomorrow."

"Got i-?"

"I got it.  Goodbye."

I pressed the "End Call" button before the connection itself expired.

And as if to add insult to injury, the one stupid OneRepublic song I liked began to play all around me: 

_I'll be your light, your match, your burning sun,_  
I'll be the bright, and black, that's making you run.  
And I feel alright, and we'll feel alright,  
'Cause we'll work it out, yeah we'll work it out.  
I'll be doin' this, if you ever doubt,  
'Til the love runs out, 'til the love runs out

Till the love runs out. 

How long, Dr. C had asked.  How long till the love runs out?

This would not have been such a devastating question, if not for what I did know about Freddie.  Seven years of study, yet that was likely the one thing I knew best of all.  And the thought of becoming an obligation, a burden upon his dear narrow shoulders- I would die before I let that happen.

_But he loves me,_ I said to myself with weak obstinacy.

_Yes_ , I answered myself.  _But for how long?_

I had all day and all night to think it over.  But the seeds of doubt were already sown, my emotional defenses weakened by the inimitable authority of facts.  

I wanted to see Freddie.  I wanted to see him right then.  I wanted him to silence the voices in my head.  But he was at the studio, or on his way- perchance to spend all day there.  I didn't want to be alone.  _Oh, God, please help me._

_I got my mind made up and I can't let go._  
I'm killing every second 'til it sees my soul.  
I'll be running, I'll be running,  
'Til the love runs out, 'til the love runs out.  
And we'll start a fire, and we'll shut it down,  
'Til the love runs out, 'til the love ru-

The next thing I knew, I had my Android in my hand, which sent it clear across the room to land with a dull thud on the living room carpet.  Nothing broke, but the music stopped.That's all I wanted. _  
_

And I sat down on the stairs and covered my face.  Oscar padded over, rubbed his face against my legs with a little purr.

"Oh, Oscar," I gasped.  I gathered the cat up into my lap, my fingers gently massaging his orange pelt. _  
_

I don't know how much time I spent sitting there, without tears, quietly petting Oscar, slowly going mad listening to those two words reverberate in my head: _How long?  How long? How long?  
_

At last, Freddie's phone rang, breaking through my daze.  I rose, carefully putting my feline friend down, and hurried over to answer. _  
_

 


	67. Hello Again, Boys

_I don't get it._

In the one split second of lull, I thought this to myself, remembering the phone call I'd hung up on about half an hour ago.  Not the Relic call, but the one with which I left you hanging at the end of last chapter.  (I mention so many different phones in this tale, it's easy to get them all mixed up.  At least, it is for me.)

I reclined in the back of a minicab, my hands folded, my brows fixed in a confused little furrow.  Here I had been sitting ever since I traipsed out of Freddie's flat.  I would have liked to use this trip to sort my head out a bit, for my heart was still in a whirl, my love and emotions fighting valiantly against cold logic and facts.  However, I had made the mistake of engaging the cabbie, a sweet, older Indian man named Siraj, in conversation.

After I told him my destination, he had nodded and said, "How lucky, I took someone to that area yesterday.  No need for maps!"

Then as we drove away from Freddie's flat, I asked him a single question: "Oh?  Have you worked as a cab driver long?"

Five minutes later, I knew the names of his wife and his children, along with their respective ages; that they had immigrated to London from Bombay three months ago, and that he had been working as a cabbie for the last month, adding to his regular job, in order to make enough money to open up his own curry restaurant in Soho.  The man talked my ear off all the way there, barely pausing to take a breath.  And since I do try to be a good listener (to be one is essentially a prerequisite for a therapist, anyway), I focused on his words as closely as possible, trying to make out everything he said in his fairly thick Indian accent, and wound up fully distracted from my life story and forcibly enthralled by his.

But I still had the voice of another ringing in my head, aside of Siraj and Dr. C.  Of all the people I expected to hear on the other end of the telephone, I never thought Brian May might be one of them.

Yet when I answered the phone that morning, I was met with a low, unimposing "Uh, hello.  Please tell me who's on the line?"

" _C'est moi_ ," I said.

I could almost see him bite his tongue in the brief pause before he spoke again, "Freddie, are you coming in today?"

"Wrong Freddie, Mr. Clogs," I murmured in my normal accent.

"Oh, it's you.  Uh... Eva, yes?"

"Close.  Eve."  _That's right.  To everyone except Rudy, John, Veronica, and of course, Freddie, I'm still Eve Dubroc.  So many names._

"Right, ahem.  Eve, do you happen to know whether or not Freddie is en route to meet us here at Wessex?"

"He just left a few minutes ago, he's on his way, I think," I replied.  

"Fantastic."

"Were you going to leave a message or something?"

"No, no, I just wanted to know if he would be here."

"Don't you worry.  Freddie's in the zone today.  He's ready to work, work, work."

"Mmm.  We'll see."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I know he's going to be distracted again.  It's inevitable."

"Awww.  What's distracting him?"

"No one but you."

"What?  But I'm not even there!"

"Not yet."

Brian then went on to ask me if I wouldn't mind dropping by Wessex in about an hour at the latest, as my services were required.  

"Services, huh?" I repeated.  "That doesn't sound very kosher."

"Oh, no, no, I mean, remember that jazz song of Freddie's?  The one he dragged you in to sing on?"

"My Melancholy Blues?"  I blinked.  "What about it?"

"We're rerecording it, but a slower version- so would you come in, too, do the harmonies he said you two worked on?  That is, if your laryngitis is gone."

"Are you saying," I giggled, "you guys want me up there to record again?"

"That's basically what I said," Brian confirmed patiently.  "It's a simple song, it probably won't take but an hour or two.  Have you that much time to spare?"

_Happy birthday to me_! I thought to myself in excitement.  "I- I won't be a hindrance, will I?"

"Don't be silly," Brian dismissed.  "Do hurry, though, we've other things to tackle as the day progresses, so-"

"Oh, I'm already there," I assured him.  "Just give me thirty minutes, I won't be that far behind Fre- also, was this your idea, Brian, or-?"

"Kind of a unanimous decision, actually," he replied, and added with a chuckle, "One of the few."

"I'm on my way," I said.

"Right, we'll expect you in forty minutes or so?"

"Sounds good.  Anything I should bring?  Food?  Alcohol?"

Brian chuckled.  "No, I think we're set.  See you then, Eva- er, I mean, Eve."

_Click._

Funny, how a week ago, I would have turned Brian down, saying I had too many other things to accomplish that morning, or some other transparent crap along those lines, in the sole interest of saving the course of history.  But if C and K were to be believed, even though my fingernails had snagged and ripped at Time's tapestry countless times, every thread still managed to stay in place, the pattern unchanged.  

And that was what I didn't get.  _Why isn't anything different on their end?_   I asked myself as I rode.  _Or were they lying to me?  C could have been lying.  Or maybe he wasn't.  I don't know.  God, I hate not knowing things for sure.  I can't even make it a quarter of the way through a mystery novel without looking at the last page.  Ignorance may be bliss, but knowledge is power!_

Ah, we accursed meddlers of academia.  Will we ever learn to leave "well enough" alone?

Honestly, though, I came mostly because it meant I would be close to my prince.  No matter what C said about Freddie, or the level of truth to it, I loved him more and more by the minute, and his nearness gave me life.

For all his chattiness, Siraj made great time; as he was telling me some amusing little story about something his youngest son did last week, we pulled up to the studio.  I tried to tactfully get him to stop jabbering on by handing him the money and saying 'Thank you, sir," but he couldn't take a hint.

"...And so my wife, she is being so upset with me," he continued as I opened the cab door.  "But I'm going to buy her a nice bit of jewelry as soon as I get off work today, she loves jade-"

"Jade, huh?" I nodded, subtly edging away.  "You'll work it all out.  I have complete confidence in you."

I managed to squeeze in a quick farewell and a "Thank you for the ride," then trotted over to the studio.  

When I walked into Wessex, though, I was struck by how quiet it was.  No wail of Brian's guitar, or raucous crunch of Steve Jones's; no clicks of tapes rewinding through the carelessly ajar door; no shrill rows between band members, or tantrums by Sid or Freddie. Even the front desk was void of any hostile receptionists.  It was as silent as a church- not a stretch, since that's what Wessex used to be.  

I recalled that Queen, like many bands, would record at several different studios when working on a single album.  Had I arrived at the wrong studio?  Hopefully I hadn't made so foolish a blunder.  _Brian said Wessex, didn't he?  Yes.  But this is very odd.  It shouldn't be this quiet._

That's when I heard a whistle come from their darkened studio.  Cautiously I stepped forward, nudged through the ajar door.

I turned on the lights in the control room, which was empty.  I felt my hair stand up on the back of my neck.  "Hello?" I called.

My eyes sweeping the console's overwhelming mishmash of switches and knobs, I noticed a note by the intercom button which read in handwriting I couldn't identify, "Press Me."

On the whole, I do as I am told.  So I pushed the button.

Almost instantaneously, through the speaker I heard drumsticks clapping together and Roger's rough voice screaming "ONE TWO THREE!"

All of a sudden the pitch dark studio on the other side of the window burst into light and sound.  The overhead lamps flooded the room, and there were the fellas.  The four fellas, from a band called Queen, crashing into a song that convinced me Freddie would not ever, ever take no for an answer:

"They say it's your birth-day!" Freddie and Roger cried, followed by the Red Special's blues riff.  "It's my birthday too, yeah!"  

"Oh, my God," I laughed, covering my mouth and bending over.  The studio boomed with the Beatles song, Roger adding his own trademark fills during Ringo's drum break.  When I finally stood back up, my face red as a lobster, I looked at Freddie, who sat energized and happy, banging away at the piano.  He widened his eyes and poked his tongue out at me, looking so silly I could only laugh harder.  Roger, too, was making weird faces, but he always made weird faces when he was drumming.  So I laughed at him as well.  

I ran into the open studio, letting the music swallow me whole.  John looked up, his eyes disappearing as they squinted tightly above the wideness of his smile, his head bobbing up and down as he bounced in place to the beat.  Even Brian was hamming it up with an impromptu solo, and did the unthinkable when he looked my direction: he nodded and winked.  And perhaps the most wonderful part of all, Paul Prenter was absent.

Roger ended the song with a violent cymbal crash, and I cheered like a maniac, clapping wildly.  In the back of my mind, I took a snapshot, made a memory. I wanted to always remember this scene, that song, and these feelings. So many of these moments had been carved into my heart, never to be erased, but there still remained room for countless more. _I don't want this ride to end. It feels like I only just got on._

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Dubroc-Zuckerberg," Roger whistled through a clever little grin.

Without hesitation, I hugged John, who stood nearest me.  I had so much I wanted to say to John, but now was not the time.  Hopefully I would get another chance later today.  Then I put my arms around Brian's neck and got a faceful of wild brown curls, before marching up to Roger's nest and, yes, giving the loose, but cute, blond drummer a tight embrace.  

"Thank you, thank you," I sighed, ignoring Roger's baffled expression.  "Oh, I love you guys!"

"Don't thank us," Brian said modestly, "thank him."  He pointed at Freddie, who rose from the piano behind me.

I pulled away from Roger and turned.  I had saved the very best for last.  Tossing caution to the wind, I threw myself into- as odd as this felt to say, it was true- the arms of my lover.  (For that's what he was; not so much as a boyfriend had entered my life before, but I now had a lover in Freddie.) He held me close, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of him.

"Surprise," Freddie murmured.

"Thank you, my sweet prince," I replied.  "But- didn't I tell you it's not my-"

"Darling," he announced loudly, drawing away to look authoritatively into my eyes, "I'm sorry to say that, to keep things accurate, from now on, you are just going to have to resign yourself to sharing a birthday week with Brian."

"Well, I'm excited now," Brian said dryly.  "When the nineteenth comes around, what mischief awaits me when I come in to work, if this is the standard operating procedure!"

"I'll have this one jump out of a cake," Freddie offered, pointing at me, "maybe perform a lap dance if she feels up to it, or a strip routine."

"You certainly know how to make me feel like a lady," I sighed.  "Besides, what makes you think I'd be wearing any clothes while _inside_ the cake?"

"True, true," Freddie hummed.  "I suppose that means a lap dance then.  Surely Chrissie will understand."

"Right," Brian pulled us back on track. "I don't want to keep you, love, and we are sort of pressed for time."

So after another five minutes or so, when the proper tapes were fitted upon the spools, Freddie, John, and Roger proceeded to record the backing track of "My Melancholy Blues."  But something was different this time around.  The tempo had slowed down considerably, much closer to the album cut I remembered so well.  Even more curious, Brian perched in the console room with Ratty, John Harris, a couple of other nameless sound wizards, and me, headphones on as he listened to the others play.  _No guitar part anymore, thank God_ , I thought to myself.  _And after that fuss he made about "Melancholy Blues" not being rock enough!_

However, the song still contained two verses and three repetitions of the chorus, as opposed to the shorter _News of the World_ version, which could claim only one verse.  They did record the shorter version in one of the earlier takes, though, just in case.  

Finally, the boys considered a take worthy to record vocals over.  Freddie waved to me, and I strolled into the recording area, chin lifted to denote my would-be confidence.  By this point we had all the words memorized, so we didn't need any lyrics sheet.

"Do you need to warm up?" Freddie asked.

"I warmed up this morning," I said.  I had my voice back completely now; the last few days had rubbed away at every last bit of hoarseness, and erased the bruise on Freddie's mouth so that you could only see anything like a discoloration if you were really looking for it.

"Great.  Let's do it."

I fitted my earphones onto my head like Freddie had done, and rubbed my hands together.  "Yes, let's."

The instrumental track started playing through the headphones.  We were recording.  _Easy does it.  It's just a little change of history.  This definitely wouldn't be the first time.  
_

Freddie began to sing, sending chills through my body, "Another party's over..."

I swallowed.  _Here goes._

*********************************************************************************************

"So what would you like as a birthday present?"

"I told you, you're all I-"

"That's a lovely idea, Julia, but I can't put me in a box and wrap myself up as nicely as some others can."

I had just bid farewell to the boys, my job there done after a grueling full hour.  I had sung the song all the way through twenty times in a row, and I hoped I never had to hear "Melancholy Blues" again as long as I lived.  But the take that satisfied them did indeed sound brilliant.  I knew Brian still saw me as Yoko on a smaller scale, so I skedaddled as soon as I could.  I wanted to be nothing like John Lennon's puppet master. (Can you tell I don't like Yoko Ono?)

"I don't need stuff to open," I protested.

"My dear, you are such a trick.  Then is there something you'd like to do?  A nice dinner at the- Ritz, perhaps?  Ever been there?  It's lovely.  We could do that.  Maybe go clubbing- or not, your first experience likely wasn't the best-"

"I don't even remember what happened."

"It's all right.  I do."  Freddie winked.  

"Should I be concerned?"

"Not at all."  Freddie went on nonchalantly, "You want to get married again?"

I laughed.  "Let's get the annulment of the last one finalized first, okay?"

"That's fair."

"Anyway, I thought the song was a gift."

"No.  That was just the, um, preliminary fanfare to what awaits us this evening."

"What does await us this evening?"

"Well, I would tell you," he shrugged, "but the whole sort of element of surprise would be spoiled."

"Aw, come on.  Can't I just this once be properly emotionally prepared for what's coming?"

"Just be ready for anything.  That's the best way."  Freddie took my hands.

"What am I going to do with you?" I whispered softly.  

"Love me."

"I do.  Hey, Freddie, look, it's Sid Vicious!" I exclaimed, pointing behind him.

"Yes, of course it is," he murmured sarcastically.

"'Ello, Eddie Platinum."

Freddie whirled, and saw a relatively sobered, "unwashed scamp" pass by. Without missing a beat, Freddie nodded to him and greeted him in a pretentious voice, "Good day, Mr. Ferocious."

"Don't choke on the diamonds in y' tea," Sid called.

And my prince nimbly fit this in, "And cut back on the rocks for breakfast every morning, dear, it's bad for the liver."

Sid flipped us the bird, but there was half a smile creeping up one side of his mouth before he disappeared into the studio.

"Cultured fellow, isn't he?" Freddie simpered.

"Rocks," I whispered. "Don't you mean, syringes?"

"That was my first thought, but I'm not in the mood to feud today."

I shook my head. "He's my age, Freddie," I realized. "He's twenty or something, right?"

"Around there, I think."

"That poor kid," I whispered with a sigh. "He didn't do it."

"Do what?"

_Murder Nancy Spungen, of course_ , I said to myself, but outwardly, I shrugged.  "Nothing."

"Julia," Freddie huffed, "if we're going to make this work, you're going to have to be a little more open with me about... things."

"I will, later," I agreed.  "But I think I'd better be off right now."

"May I have an Eskimo kiss first?"

"One," I whispered, and we rubbed noses.

"That's nice," Freddie murmured, then put both hands on my face and kissed my lips.

Surprised, I pulled back.  "What was that?"

"Eskimo sex."

"You," I muttered while trying to control my giggles- and failing miserably.

"Well, you know what they say, one thing does lead to another..." He backed me up against the wall and kissed me again.  But this time, I did feel a little apprehensive.  I had no problem with Freddie getting a little friendly with me, but why was he being so public with his affection now? It was so unlike him. _Perhaps that kiss in front of all his friends did it_ , I speculated. _The secret is out, so let the whole world see._

But I couldn't forget that it didn't end with the two of us. Because, as inconvenient as it was for me especially, there was Joe to think of, and Minsy, and Mary. Freddie and I hadn't even come close to discussing these and others- and how our relationship would end up in connection with them. _Who's to say he even intends to discuss it_ , I said to myself doubtfully. _The man compartmentalized everything and everyone; why should I be any different? Is there a nice little box with my name on it, waiting to hold my heart?_

Or maybe not. C's words again were ringing in my head. Perhaps we wouldn't even get as far as a box, if I was that much a flash in the pan...

"All right," I said, gently pushing him away.  "I had better be going.  I don't want to, but I ought to."

"I'll see you tonight?" Freddie asked.

"Of course," I smiled.  "I'll at least be home by seven, just waiting on you."

"I may be rather late," he warned me.  "But, uh, seven, you say?"

"Seven, seven-thirty."

"I'll call on the hour, make sure you're still there."

I smiled into his eyes.  Despite my doubts, I just wanted to stand here and look at him for hours.  Such a beautiful man. _Freddie never ceases to amaze. He's a miracle, I love him, I still can't fully wrap my head around him but I love him so much. My God, what does this crazy fireball see in me?_

Freddie studied my expression.  "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about how much I adore you," I whispered.  "And I can't understand why you give me even a passing glance."

Rolling his eyes, he kissed me a third time, holding on a little longer than before.  Not too intense of a kiss, but intense enough to get the heart pounding.

Someone cleared their throat behind us.  We opened our eyes, turned to see Roger standing there, hands behind his back, a crooked little smile on his face.

"Eve, uh," he said, "can I- talk to you alone for a minute?"

_Uh-oh._   

Freddie released me and gave me a subtle little wink.  "I will see you this evening- and I'll call even before that.  Okay?"

"Okay," I smiled.  "Happy songwriting!"

Before he walked back into the control room, though, Freddie mouthed the words _I love you,_ which I returned.  Now I was alone with Roger.

"I saw the license," Roger murmured softly, drawing me aside.

"Mm-hm," I nodded, feeling wary of his motives.  "So do you believe I'm married now?"

He broke into a smile.  "No, actually."

"What?"  I pretended to be indignant.  "But there's the proof!"

Roger shook his head.  "Rubbish.  It might have worked, you know, if not for one thing."

"What's that?"

"The license date," he chuckled.  "It said, July 9, 1977.  You can't tell me you've been married for only two days."

I opened my mouth, then closed it, shaking my head.  "Okay, you got us," I conceded.  "I'm not married- officially, that is."  _That trip to Vegas- was it all for naught?_

"It's all right," Roger assured me.  "Look, Eve.  If Freddie's going to go to all that trouble to defend you, I- he's no match for me, where you're concerned."

"So," I said slowly, "you're calling off the bet?"

Roger blinked.  "What bet?"

"Oh, please.  Freddie told me everything."

"Are you upset?"

"Used to be.  Not so much anymore.  I've mellowed with age."

The blond laughed his funny little "heh heh heh" chortle again.  "Then I suppose, yes, it's off, on the grounds of, Freddie's completely mad, or he must think you're really quite special.  But my guess is, it's probably both."

I grinned.  "You know something, Sneakers?" I asked.  "You're alright."  _You're like a mischievous little brother_ , I added to myself; somehow it didn't seem appropriate to tell him that directly.

"Thanks, Okoy.  You're not so bad yourself."

I gave him another goodbye hug.  "Say hello to Dom for me."

"Will do.  Come around again sometime, you're fun."  With his pretty grin and a small wave, Roger ran back to the control room, shouting something about "Sheer Heart Attack."

As for me, I walked out of Wessex after calling a cab, making a few wild plans of my own.  It sounded to me like Freddie had yet another little surprise in store.  That did not mean I couldn't put together one of my own.

_This is technically my birthday_ , I thought to myself.  _So I can do as I please.  And, I please to buy Freddie a little gift._   He had been such a giver (and a taker, too, granted, but much more of a giver), I wanted to give him something to open as well.  The only problem was, what was there I could give him that would really mean something?  He had everything.

I had all day to work it out- at least until seven.  _A gift for Freddie.  This'll be fun. Okay, Brain, start racking.  
_

 

 

 

 


	68. The Yin, the Yang, and the YIKES!

I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, poring over a most unintelligible map of London, intended for tourists but written by seasoned locals.  It was nearly time for high tea, so the streets weren't as congested as they might have been, and I served as an obstacle only to a handful.

  I squinted at the small print, struggling to identify the numbers scattered all across the scale drawing of the Royal Borough of Kensington.  True, I had made great strides in familiarizing myself with the city, but London was far too huge and far too confusing (for an American, anyway) to know by heart in under two weeks. 

Folding the map up, I opened up my journal to stick it back between the pages for the moment, and briefly scanned the list I had brainstormed of things I knew Freddie liked, with a few parenthetical comments to myself scrawled in the margins: 

**_Music (duh)_  
_Sex (double duh)_  
_Attention (quadruple duh)_  
_jewelry/jewels (shiny shiny)_  
_Asian art, jade stuff, sculptures (Chinese/Japanese)_  
_Anything that doesn't require batteries or a plug (he'd never last in the 21st century, that's all we got)_  
_General art, paintings, etc._  
_Antiques_  
_Shopping_  
_Ballet (Nijinsky, Baryshnikov)_  
_Opera_  
_Cats_  
_Godiva chocolate_  
_Bubble baths_  
_Massages (head/neck/back/foot preference?)_  
_Flowers, gardens_  
**

_Hm.  I'm seeing a pattern here._ ****

And toward the bottom, I had written a few more names to round out the list's contents: ** _  
_**

**_Darth Vader_  
_Richard Dreyfuss (just kidding)_  
_Mary_  
_David (Minsy)_  
_Joe (Liza)_  
** **_Love (till it runs out)_**

I looked at the last four items in the list, and sighed.  Dr. C had indeed done his job; doubt had enveloped me once more.  For Freddie could scarcely cross my mind now, without thoughts of the prophesied brevity of our love affair in hot pursuit.I would not be a link in a chain.  I would not be another of Freddie's nameless, disposable lovers.I loved him madly, but not madly enough to accept such a status.  I would jump out of a thirty-story window first. _  
_

Freddie had extremely expensive tastes, I knew; Cartier pleased him to no end.  I personally didn't get the appeal; diamonds sparkled, sure, and they cost an ungodly amount of money, but how Freddie could simply immerse himself in a shopping spree, much less a jewelry store shopping spree, escaped my imagination.  I had actually just left Cartier a little while ago, and found out for myself that Freddie's favorite bijou boutique rose almost embarrassingly out of my price range.  I couldn't afford anything there, not even when I combined my Vegas winnings with my generous daily allowance.  Besides, if I was completely clueless about picking jewelry for myself, then I had no business even shopping around for someone as bling-savvy as he.

The antiques idea, though, had potential.Portobello Road was famous for its antiques, but only on weekends.  Scratch that idea.  According to the map, there were numerous shops on Kensington Church Street, which was just a block over.  _Let's check it out_. 

I remembered walking through that area a bit earlier anyway, so I knew where to go.  Making good time, I soon strolled down the street surveying my options.  I kept my eyes peeled for an Asian-themed shop, with an emphasis on Japanese or Chinese art pieces. 

A few stores down, a place caught my eye -I forget what the dealer's shop was called, I don't think it's there anymore anyway.  But in its window sat a two foot bronze Buddha sculpture surrounded by what looked like an old Japanese tea set.  It didn't get any more Oriental than that.  With a smile, I stepped inside.

"Good afternoon!" the dealer called to me as the door swung closed behind me.  "Looking for anything in particular?"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied.  "I guess I'm just browsing."

"Let me know if you need any assistance," he offered, turning down the classical music playing over the radio.

As is typical of most antique shops, I saw lots of vases and dishes with Far East origins, bronze vessels in glass cases.  But it was still quite a hoard in such a small space.  I noticed there were no price tags anywhere for anything- not even for the delicate, centuries-old pieces in toward the back.  With a gulp, I wondered if this guy expected me to haggle with him over the cost.  I didn't care what the price was as long as I could afford it, even it meant emptying my wallet entirely.

Since I still had jewelry and little trinket-y things on the brain, my eyes naturally drifted to the case containing the gemstones.  I saw a ruby ring I thought was exquisite, and seemed to gleam with an inner light all its own.

But I shook my head.  Rings weren't exactly appropriate.  Again I realized uncomfortably that Freddie and I were stationed in relationship limbo.  I still didn't know the extent of my role in his life- and honestly, I wasn't so sure about his in mine.  I wanted to be generous, yet I didn't want to overdo it.  There was love between us, the kind shared and the kind made, but I was uncertain.  So uncertain, in fact, that I needed advice.

I called to the dealer.  "Sir, I think I need a little help, please."

He rushed over.

"I'm trying to find a gift," I said softly.  "I'm not shopping for me."

"Then who?" 

"A guy."

The dealer shot a look at my ringed left hand.  "Your husband?"

"I wish."  _WHOA!  Freudian slip on steroids!_ "Uh, I mean, he's a, um- friend of mine, but, uh, I'm very much in love with him- but we're not married.  No.  Definitely not married."  I paused, and sighed.  "I guess you could say we're lovers.  And this is not a wedding ring, by the way."  I stopped trying to explain; the more I said, the more I looked like an unfaithful harlot. 

With a benevolent smile, he asked, "What is this, ahem, man of yours- what tickles his fancy?"

"As far antiques go?  Pretty much anything," I replied.  "But he loves things with an Oriental background especially."

'You're in the right place, then," he assured me. 

"The vases and flatware are lovely," I went on, "but I think he prefers to pick things like that out on his own.  But he loves art, whether that's sculptures, paintings-"

"Have you seen the jade carvings over here?" The dealer led me toward another glass case.  In this one were numerous, painstakingly carved figures.  I oohed and ahhed as he walked behind the case and opened it up to give me a closer look.

The man drew out a jade figurine of what looked like a swan with its head drawn back and mouth open, as though about to break out into song.  Very beautiful, but a bit too simple, and rather small; it was about as long as my index finger.  Then the dealer showed me a dragon made from rose quartz, much larger than the swan- intricately carved, and an exquisite shade of pink.  I almost asked him how much he wanted for it, but I remembered the color scheme in Freddie's flat.  A big pink dragon would not have fit in anywhere and looked good.

I shook my head politely at the dragon, then I saw something toward the back of the case.  It was of a modest size between the swan's and the dragon's.

"What about that one there?" I asked.

"Ah," he nodded.  "It's a sharp eye you have.  Only acquired this last Sunday."  And he brought the carving up to show me in the light.

"How old is it, do you think?"

"I'd put it at around the turn of the century, late nineteenth or so," he replied.  "Have a look."

It was a white and black jade carving, in an old, definite Chinese style, of two cats lying side by side.  The figurine had been sculpted in such a way that one of the cats was entirely black, and the other a pure white, with what looked like a butterfly resting on the shoulder of the latter.  On each of the cats' backs was a different Mandarin symbol.

"What do those mean?"  I asked, pointing at the carved Chinese words.

"I've seen that all over, just never on figures like these," he said.  "I believe that this is the symbol for 'yin' on the dark one there.  And on the white cat," he added, pointing, "that's the symbol for 'yang.'"

"Yin yang cats," I remarked.  "That's rather fitting, actually."

I immediately fell in love.  I had no doubt now what I was taking home with me.

"How much?" I asked.

The dealer looked me over.  "One hundred twenty-five without the wood stand, one fifty with."

"Pounds?"

"Pounds."

"Sold!  With the stand, if you please."

After I forked over most of my money (I still had maybe fifteen pounds left, plus the seven pounds I had set aside for the cab ride home should I need one, so a grand total of twenty-two pounds remained), the dealer started packing it away in a small box, saying, "Your man will be quite chuffed, I think."

"I hope so," I said.  "He has everything, makes it kinda hard to shop for him.  This is wonderful."

The man looked up.  "Just out of curiosity, what's his name?"

"Why?"

"There's a customer of mine, one of my finest patrons, actually. He called me up about fifteen minutes ago, said he was coming by to find a little something for his girlfriend's birthday."

I just stood there.  "Oh." 

"Is it your birthday today?"

"My fella thinks it is."  I tried to swallow, my cheeks flushing involuntarily. 

The dealer's eyes widened.  "Did I just let the cat out of the bag?"  He looked down slyly.  "Or more accurately, the box?"

"Depends on what your patron's name is."  _He did not call me his girlfriend.  He did not call me his girlfriend._

"His name is Freddie."

I bit my lip.  "Dark hair?  Dark eyes?"

The dealer smiled.  "Yes."

"Does he have, uh, you know..."  I waved a hand over my mouth.

And the dealer, perfectly understanding me, nodded.

"I... guess you did, then," I managed.  _Oh.  Wow.  He called me his girlfriend._

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry!"  He exclaimed.  "I've spoiled the surprise, I suppose."

"No, actually," I said.  "That was much more surprise than I know how to handle."  I took the jade cats and nodded to him.  "Thank you, I needed that.  I'd better be off before he comes in.  Mum's the word, though, don't mention me!"

"I don't even know your name!"

"That's okay, just don't say I was here," I whispered, laying a finger to my lips. 

"Right, then.  Cheerio!"

"Ta-ta!"  And I swept out the door.

I wanted to run like a crazy woman up and down the street, my thoughts whirling  in joyous chaos.  _I'm his girlfriend?  Is that how he sees me?  His GIRLFRIEND!  Impossible!  Mary was his girlfriend, and that's it, and yet, and yet here I am!  But what of the others?  What about them?  How did this happen?  He called me his girlfriend! Take that, Dr. C!  What do YOU know?_

Buoyed once again by hope, I seemed to fly instead of run.  My feet did not make contact with the sidewalk.  _Oh, Freddie, you naughty thing, you_ , I thought to myself.  _You said you would spend all day at the studio, and this is how you make use of your tea time?  You're too much.  I love you and you're too much._

But now, I had to take it a step further.  One more little something for Freddie. I giggled, aware of what was transpiring yet again: one trying to outdo the other, even about something as small as this.  It just didn't stop.  Rudy was right, we were almost frightfully alike in so many ways.

So I ducked into a tea room a little ways down Kensington Church Street and had myself a "cuppa" and a scone.  Just a bit of caffeine and sugar to perk me up, tide me over, while I worked out what other little token gift I would give to Freddie.  Very quietly I sneaked a glance at the Android under the table. Almost four o'clock.  Perfect time for tea.

Afternoon tea at the Ritz must be some kind of British ritual, because the place was packed when I rode past it coming back from Cartier. As soon as I saw the hotel out of the taxi window, I thought of that line from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy." Not everybody was able to get in, however.  There were two gentlemen a table away who had apparently failed to reserve a spot at the London Ritz-Carlton, and now had to resort to this charming little tea room. I tried not to eavesdrop too much, but their voices tended to carry- and the conversation itself I found irresistibly juicy. So I alternated between figuring out what other little thing I was going to give Freddie and deciphering what the two jokers little more than a seat over were complaining about.

"...Never been this secretive with me," the fellow at the table nearby exclaimed once.  I looked up, unable to see his face because he was sitting with his back to me, but he was a little on the pudgy side, and he shook his tousled, dirty blond hair around as he talked."It's just not the way it once was.  So I was determined to find..." _  
_

_Poor sucker,_ I thought to myself _,_ before returning attention to my list and crossing out the things I couldn't conveniently package and wrap.  So every abstract action or person, as well as ballet and opera, were stricken from the sheet.And Freddie already had three cats who loved him, so that too was disqualified. _  
_

"...Definitely has some other little piece on the side," the pudgy man went on, voice rising and falling unevenly. "Maybe... besides just that Yank he brought from New..."

Godiva chocolates would be an easy enough addition to the kitties, but I hardly knew where to find them.  The map didn't say where such a chocolate shop was located _._ Perhaps the guy over there knew _._ He seemed to be familiar with the more refined things in life _,_ assuming gourmet chocolates qualified as such. So I stood, put on my meekest, most lost-tourist expression, and tiptoed toward the table.

"...And he looks at me, with those big woebegone eyes, and you know what he says to me?" the man was now scoffing petulantly.  "He says, 'But, Phyllis, don't you understand? I have love enough for all of you.'  As if that's supposed to make it better!" _  
_

"Um, excuse me, sir," I cleared my throat.  He looked my way.  "Do you know where I might find-"

I stopped mid-sentence, stared momentarily at the exasperated man's face _._ The features upon it were soft- undeveloped, like a child's almost, something of which he was clearly aware, judging by the sparse mustache he was trying to grow _._ "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy"  played louder in my head. I didn't know why. _  
_

"Do you happen to know where, uh," I resumed, "I might find Godiva chocolates, boxes of them?"

The baby-faced man blinked.  "At the Godiva shop, I should think."

"Where's that?" I fumbled with the map.  _  
_

"Oh, I can just tell you, God knows I've been there enough," he muttered, smoothing out the map before him and pointing at a random spot.  "It's right between these two here.  I can give you the directions if you like-"

"Oh, no, I've got that much, it's not too far; that's what taxis are for anyhow," I said.  "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all," he nodded.  "Sweeties for a friend?"

"You could say that.  My, uh, my boyfriend loves chocolate, especially those." _Boyfriend?  Did I just seriously call Freddie my boyfriend?  "_ Are there any really good ones you can suggest?"

"Try the pralines, those are my favorites," the man said.  "That dreadful tart of mine takes a liking to the cherry chocolate ones, though."  _  
_

The fellow sitting with him chimed in, "Yes, but the dark chocolate mousse things- those are killer." _  
_

"Okay, great, I'll try those, Mr.-?" _  
_

"I'm Nigel," he said.  "Nigel Drury."

"Nice to meet you."  I looked at Phyllis's cherub face, silently asking for his real name-

_Wait a second.  Cherub face?  "Phyllis"?  And he has someone he calls a tart?_ And then it hit me, a second before he answered my unspoken question. _  
_

"I'm David Minns.  Hello." _  
_

In spite of myself, I gulped.  _Hello, Minsy.  
_

"Thanks, Mr. Cher- I mean, Mr. David," I stuttered as I stepped back to my table, almost calling him by one of Freddie's pet names for him.  "And Mr. Drury, thanks so much.  You've been very helpful." _  
_

Suddenly I didn't feel much like drinking the rest of my tea.  Not with an oblivious Minsy the Cherub sitting so close, and certainly not with those words ringing in my head, taking on a new meaning:

"I have love enough for all of you." _  
_

_All of us?  How many people is he currently juggling?_

Within seconds, the hope that had lifted me among the clouds plunged me back toward the hard earth, as it revealed itself to be false hope.  "All of you."  Good God! Then again, this was Minsy talking- Minsy, with whom Freddie's affections were waning even before I came along.  And who knew how long ago Freddie may or may not have said that? 

Still, "ALL of you."  That could mean any number.  Any number but one.

How did it feel to be secure in my emotions?  There was a time when I knew, but I'd forgotten; I had riding this emotional roller coaster for so, so long.  It just wouldn't stop.  Up and down, up and down.  Freddie loved me, Freddie loved me not.  He says I'm the only one.  No, wait, I'm just the only girl.  No, wait _...  
_

_This is going to drive me mad,_ I told myself.  _If I stay with Freddie, I'll be counting every day, every hour, every minute that passes, waiting for the bomb to drop- or even, for lack of a better phrase, waiting for the hammer to fall.  And then I will be no better than Minsy, or Liza, or anyone.  I can't live like that, I can't wake up every morning and ask myself, "Is he bored with me yet?"  I'll end up in a straitjacket._

Quickly I paid out, and went back out to the street.  We had to talk about this.  I couldn't ignore this elephant in the room any longer.  Freddie wouldn't like being confronted this way, but I didn't care.  This had to be done.  As soon as Freddie came home tonight, and before I gave him my small tokens of affection, we would get to the bottom of this, clear the air once and for all what I meant to him, and what that meant for everyone else in his life who was under the same impression that I was under- specifically, that Freddie loved them.  Yes, this might kill whatever romantic mood Freddie could very well try to set, but it was important.  My choice by noon tomorrow depended on it.

Flagging down a taxi, I almost told the driver to take me to the Godiva boutique that David told me about, but I paused.  I needed to vent a little to a higher authority first.  Hopefully that same vicar would be hearing confessions at the cathedral I visited last Sunday evening.  I wanted whatever help I could get.

"Westminster Cathedral, please?" I asked.  _Sins first, sweets after_ , I quipped inwardly. 

As I rode, I reached into my bag and pulled out the sweet little "yin yang" cats.  The white one reminded me of Freddie; something about the expression, and the way that butterfly looked so comfortable on its shoulder. 

But then, something new caught my eyes.  For the first time I noticed the way the cats' faces were positioned. They lay almost cheek to cheek, their noses nestled softly against one another's. My lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile.

The cats were Eskimo-kissing.

I looked up and whispered to the ceiling, "God, You're a very ironic Three Persons, aren't You?"

But deep down, I worried.  This was either my last night with Freddie, or just the start of a brand new wonderful life alongside him.  In twenty hours, I would have to choose.  I prayed to high heaven that I would choose wisely. 

_One thing's for sure, though_ , I quipped to myself.  _That box of chocolates will have no pralines.  Sorry, Phyllis._


	69. On My Toes

It was close to seven when I returned to Stafford Terrace, the parcel containing Freddie's jade cats in one hand and a small box of Godiva chocolate in the other.  My heart hung heavy within me, heavier than it had before I had gone to Westminster that afternoon. 

I had thought that speaking to the vicar at the cathedral, the one who had heard my confession after last Sunday's Mass (and kind of had to walk me through proper Catholic procedure of confessing one's sins), would give me a little peace of mind.  I told him what had happened the night before, hoping he could help me sort out my head.*

But with one sentence, one question, Father Timothy- I believe that was his name, either that or Thomas- brought everything into unpleasantly realistic perspective: "You need help choosing between pursuing a successful, healthy future, or maintaining as this man's mistress?"

My own dear Baptist pastor isn't that blunt.  But the vicar still had a point.

Try though I might to shy away from the idea, that's what it boiled down to, should I choose to stay: I would be resigning myself to be nothing more than Freddie's mistress.  For if Mary, the love of his life, couldn't fully capture his heart or his fidelity, what were the odds he would even think of committing himself to me? 

I attempted to cheer myself up.  _What are the odds of anything that's happened?_   I tried to smile.  _Maybe, maybe things will be different now_.  _He said he loves me-_

"I have love enough for all of you."  Minsy's words resounded in my head, ruthlessly mocking me.  Was that really what he'd said?  There had to be more at play there.  And yet...

As I opened the front door, Oscar rose from the sofa and wound himself about my ankles as was his habit.  I knelt to stroke his fur, nudging the door closed with my foot.  Oscar rolled onto his back, asking for a belly rub, front paws folded over and resting against his white chest.  His fur tickled my nose enough to start a sneeze or two, but nothing more.  Setting my gifts down, I ran my hand back and forth over his belly and stroked Tiffany's spotted coat when she too padded over to greet me.  Tom was still asleep.  As usual.

"I have love enough for all of you," I repeated, more to myself than to the cats.  "I have love for every single one of you, in varying degrees.  Everyone gets a piece of the pie.  The piece I give Oscar might be bigger than yours, Tom, but hey, at least you get a piece at all, right?  Lucky you."

I admit it.  Where love is concerned, I'm pretty selfish.  I want to be the only one giving love to my love, and I want to be the only one receiving theirs.  I'm funny that way.  To me, love is not a pie, but a cycle, a give and take cycle between two people.  I don't believe in open marriages, or open romances.  Love is such a precious thing that can be beyond wonderful and beyond horrible at the same time, too precious to be downplayed, cheapened, or squandered- which was why I was so cautious about falling into it at all.  You may see it differently.  Maybe I shouldn't see it that way, maybe I've got it wrong.  They don't spend nearly enough time on the subject of love at the university, it's too complex for an hour-long lecture three days a week, so I could very well have it wrong.  But that's how I see it regardless.

With a sigh, I stood back up.  I set the gifts on the piano, about to search for a ribbon to tie around the wrapped box containing Yin and Yang.  But first, I looked down at the ivory keys.  For a moment I let myself think on how much more beautiful they were when Freddie's hands were stretched across them, coaxing that otherworldly music from this quiet, polished grand.  

Now my thoughts drifted to that "Birthday" surprise earlier today.  What a dear, silly goof my prince could be.  Freddie was still probably getting work done at Wessex, but I wished he was here now, not so he could fawn over me for my would-be birthday, but just so I could reach over and touch him to convince myself he was in fact real, and he was in fact standing there, smiling with those beautiful dark eyes, saying those sweet words that I wanted so, so much to trust. 

_I am in it up to my nose_ , I thought to myself, and feebly asked one more time:  _Why me?  You still haven't answered me yet, Sir.  Why me?  Is there a point to me being here, and messing everything up?  I always figured You get it right the first time, did something go wrong and I'm the tool by which You are fine-tuning the future?_

I sat down on the bench and adjusted my hands, pressing an E flat chord- Freddie's favorite key (I assume- but almost all his songs end up in E flat in some form or another, so I think it's a safe assumption). Then a B flat, then one more down to C minor.  The words flew from my lips: "Another party's over..."

I'm not a pianist, but I actually knew how to fumble through "My Melancholy Blues" on the keys.  So, very softly, I played the song Freddie and I had recorded this morning, but this time to words that reflected my indecision.  It was strange how quickly they came to me, although they do after all say, great anguish makes for great creativity:

_Another party's over,_  
_And I'm left cold sober._  
 _My prince will leave me for somebody new..._  
 _I don't want to think about it,_  
 _Want to forget about it-_  
 _But I must make up my mind about_  
 _What I should do:_

_Should K come and get me,  
or let me  
Stay in the sweetest feeling  
That once my heart thought it would never know?  
Oh,  
They expect me  
To return directly.  
I'd stay a long long while,  
But they say one day soon, aside I will be cast.  
He makes me happy,  
And be near him is all that I want to do.  
He's such a wild sensation,  
My one preoccupation.  
I'm permanently glued  
To that extraordinary dude. _ [In spite of myself, I snickered at that line]  
_Should I move over,_  
_Or let love hold over?  They're my..._  
 _Melancholy Blues."_

I sighed, and took my hands off the keys.  I didn't feel like singing a second verse.

Suddenly I heard someone politely applauding.  It came from behind, at the top of the stairs.

I spun around on the bench, but Freddie I did not see.  Nor was it David, or Mary, or Joe.  Or Paul.  Thank God.

"Rudy!" I exclaimed. 

"Hello, Julia," he smiled.  "Many happy returns, by the way."

"Thank you.  What are you doing here?"

"Freddie sent me," he replied, lumbering down the stairs.  "He had a message, asked me to deliver it."

"Oh?" I frowned.  "Freddie said he would call me at-"  I looked at the clock- "Any minute now actually."

But Rudy shook his head.  "He said he would not be able to call, he's all caught up in studio things.  So here I am."

"I see."  I nodded, combating the suspicions rising within.  "So what's the message?"

"Right here."  Rudy handed me an envelope with my name written in Freddie's hand across the back.  I tore it open, and read the apology hastily scrawled upon Wessex Studios stationery:

**_My dearest Julia:_ **

**_I am so sorry I can't make the phone call, but the boys and I are onto something really fab and I can't afford to break now.  I probably won't be back until much later tonight.  I do, however, have a gift for you, something I found while we were in Las Vegas (see, I still have a thing or two up my sleeve).  Do put it on, come back up here, and show me how beautiful you are.  It's terrible, really, how addicted I am to you.  It's your fault, you being so wonderful..._ **

_**That's all for now, my angel.  I will see you shortly, I hope- dressed to kill!** _

**_All my love,  
Mark Zuckerberg (a.k.a. the Prince, a.k.a. Mr. J)_ **

**_P.S.  You must explain the Mr. J thing to me sometime, I don't get it._ **

**_P.P.S. The gift is in red wrapping paper under our bed._ **

**_P.P.P.S.  Nothing more, actually- I just wanted to put three p's._ **

I had to laugh at the closing postscripts.  That was Freddie for you. 

But then I did a double take.  For a man as notoriously flamboyant as Freddie was, he could be ever so subtle, almost insidiously so.  Now his bed was "our bed"; he dubbed me his girlfriend among complete strangers.  By changing the language, he was integrating the two of us, transitioning us from separate individuals into a single unit.  And he knew I would notice, or else he wouldn't do it.  Clever chap.

_What a sweet note, all the same._

Still, I would have liked to hear his voice, even if only over the phone.  I would get to see him face to face, but only briefly- and I'd have to spend my potentially final night in 1977 all by myself. 

"Under the bed, huh?" I said aloud.  "I'll go see."  I turned to Rudy.  "Anything else he wanted you to tell me?"

The driver shook his head.  "Although he did ask that I take you to, um, Wessex in the Rolls Royce."

"When does he expect me?"

"About eight, eight fifteen."

"And it's five till seven now."  I sighed.  "I wish Freddie was here when I opened it, it's his gift to me for crying out loud.  Oh, well."

_Maybe I should do the same when he breaks into the little things I got him; I'd be too embarrassed to watch,_ I realized.  _When you're used to Cartier and Tiffany's, antique jade carvings can seem pretty small-scale._

So thinking, I rushed up the stairs and strode into Freddie's bedroom (personally, I wasn't ready to call it ours yet).  I dropped to my knees and reached under the bed skirt.  In shiny metallic red gift wrap, sure enough, sat a rectangular box with an enormous red bow. 

"So let's see what he bought you!" Rudy called from below.

Not wanting him to feel abandoned, I took the package downstairs.

"I'm glad you're here, Rudy," I smiled.  "Nothing worse than opening wrapped boxes all by yourself."

All he did was shrug with a little grin, one hand behind his back. 

The two of us sat on the sofa, Rudy's long legs almost tucking uncomfortably up against him.  For a couple of minutes, I just sat there with the gift in my lap, then remembered Freddie expected me in a little over an hour.  So, almost reluctantly, I untied the bow, and tore away at the paper.  I lifted the lid of the box, brushing aside the wisps of tissue paper inside, and gasped.

It was a dress.  An ivory white, layered, formal gown with flowing sleeves and lacy embroidery about the bust.  I stood and held the dress up against me to see where it fell.  The skirt tumbled all the way to the carpet.  Aside of the cut away, bared shoulders, the dress was rather old-fashioned in style, the very definition of modest- but tastefully modest at that.  I could hardly believe Freddie had selected this- and in Vegas!

"Oh, how gorgeous." I turned to Rudy.  "He wants me to show up in this?"

The driver shrugged.  "I don't know.  Does he?"

"It looks like a-" I cut myself off.  I dared not speak the words. 

Rudy's brows rose.  He knew exactly what I was thinking.  "Like a what, Julia?"

I shook my head.  "I don't know.  Two minutes, I'll go put this on.  He and I are having a long talk when he gets home."  I darted for the stairs.  "A looong talk.  I don't care how tired he'll be-"

Rudy stood as well.  "Aren't you going to do anything about your hair?"

I stopped, and turned.  "What about it?"

"Oughtn't you, I don't know... put it up, or back, or something?"

I half-smiled.  "What's it to you, my friend?"

"Well, for one, it would make it easier to see these."  Rudy took his hand from behind his back and gave me a small, velvet pouch.  I frowned for a second, then looked up at his down-turned face to see he was mildly blushing.

"Rudy, what did you do?" I said softly.

He nodded at the pouch.  "See for yourself."

"Rudy," I growled playfully.  But I loosened the pouch's drawstrings and drew out a pair of small white pearls.  I said his name again, but this time, it was tinged with awe and complete surprise. 

"They're earrings," he said clumsily.  "I thought they would go well with, um- anyway, I hope you like them, and happy birthday.  Yes.  Right."

"They're just beautiful, Rudy," I breathed.  "My God, what did I do to deserve all this?  You, Freddie, the others-"

Rudy waved his hand and shook his head.  Excessive praise I think made him feel uncomfortable.  So I stopped for the moment.  "Second, if you'll excuse my frankness," Rudy murmured, "he might want to let it down himself later.  That is, your hair."

My eyes widened.  "You think s- wait.  Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I remember from when I was right behind you two in the truck," Rudy said.  His eyes almost glittered, and he said no more about it.  He didn't have to.

"You may have something there," I agreed.  "All right, I'll put it up.  Any other fashion advice you have to offer?"

Rudy's brows furrowed.  "I'm sure Freddie would be much better suited to-"

"Yes, but Freddie's not here, and you have an underappreciated eye for these things, I can see," I said.  "I'm willing to take all the help I can get."  I waved my hand, ushered him upstairs.  "Come along!  You know you have opinions, please share them."

He smiled, following me to the second floor.  "Well, if you're asking..."

**********************************************************************************************

"Rudy, is this the way to Wessex?" I asked, staring out the passenger side window.  I didn't recognize the buildings and street signs we were passing. 

Freddie's driver only nodded in response.

"Then why are we going this way?"

"It's a sort of shortcut," he explained.  "Traffic's terrible this time of night over by the studio.  This is faster."

"Oh," I nodded.  I straightened my ivory skirt over my knees, and sighed to myself.  _I hope he likes what he sees._

Rudy seemed to read my expression like a book.  "You look lovely," he assured me. 

"You did most of it," I chuckled.  "Good grief, Rudy, there's nothing you can't do, is there?"

My hair was swept up into a swirl of a bun with a few stray, curling locks of hair left down to frame my face.  I wore Rudy's pearls and Freddie's gown, along with the sandy brown wedges - although, for the car ride, I had kicked them off.  The wedges looked pretty, but they were the same shoes that tore my heels to shreds about a week ago- so, not the most comfortable soles, but they worked with the dress, and that was all that mattered.  As for my makeup, it was actually Rudy who helped put my face together- and that means eye shadow, lipstick, mascara, blush, everything. 

When I asked him how he knew so much about cosmetics, Rudy only answered laconically, "You pick these things up, I suppose."

Very softly, the radio hummed over the engine- "Brown Sugar" by the Stones, I discovered when I turned it up a bit.  I sang along under my breath, but somehow my heart wasn't in it tonight.  There was something odd about this evening- a kind of finality in the air.  In the two times I came close to leaving Freddie before, I had never noticed such a feeling.  I bit my lip, but carefully so as not to smudge my pink lipstick. 

The silence began to eat at Rudy.  Rudy, of all people.  "Julia?"

I turned.  "Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I lied, then added honestly, "I just feel sort of sad."

Rudy nodded, and didn't press.  I wished he would, I wanted to vent again.  The vicar hadn't done the trick earlier.

But instead I asked, after a moment, "Rudy, have you met David before?"

"David?  You mean, David, uh, Minns?"

"Yes."

"Oh, of course.  Many times over the months."  Rudy looked at me.  "Why do you ask?"

"Because I met him today."

He blinked.  "You did?"

"On accident.  But yes." 

Rudy nodded quietly.  "Is that why you're sad?"

"That's part of it. What he said Freddie said, that is."

"What's the other part?"

"I- I'll tell you later.  Have you met Liza, too?"

"I have.  But Julia-"

"How many lovers does he have, Rudy?" I blurted.  "I need to know, I need to know right now, this is going to drive me-"

"Julia, I'm going to tell you this once, and I want you to never forget it," Rudy said, his gruff voice stern.  We stopped at the traffic light, and he turned to face me, looking right into my eyes.

"I want only what is best for him, for Freddie, just like you do.  I am very fond of him, he's almost like the brother I never had- and please don't repeat that to Freddie, by the way, this is just between us.  Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered.

"You don't know how hard it is sometimes to keep my mouth shut, to merely sit and watch what goes on, when one critical but friendly word could mean the sack for me.  My tongue has teeth marks all over it, it's been bitten so much, wherever Joe or David or, my God, Paul are concerned.  Yes, Joe and David have taken that role- David more so than Joe, from what I have seen.  But even in the short interval I've spent as his chauffeur, I know the difference.  You're an absolute miracle.  And he knows it, too."

I thought for a moment.  "You still haven't answered me."

"He has had several different lovers, yes- but as of right now, truth be told, he only has one _love_."  Rudy looked right at me as he spoke.

"Mary?" I piped.

Rudy rolled his eyes.  "Don't be stupid.  I'm not talking that kind of love.  It's you."

The thought leapt and struck with cobra-like precision: _Yes, but for how long?_

Good God.

The light turned green, and the Rolls lurched forward again, turning on Sloane Street.  Rudy's eyes were on the road, but mine were on his profile.  After a moment, I said, "You are... very kind..."

"No, just honest- and grateful," Rudy muttered.  "None of this leaves the car, all right?"

"Right."  _And I used to think you a man of few words..._

"Oh, look," Rudy announced after another pause.  "We're here."

I looked out, and frowned.  "Uh, no, we're not."

We were slowing down alongside some very high-end shops and restaurants on Sloane Street, the same part of town where I had found and browsed Cartier.  This was nowhere near Wessex.  We stopped in front of a place with the words "Le Gavroche" written elegantly above the door.  A gentleman dressed like a valet attendant approached us. 

"Are we?" I squeaked.

"You might want to put your shoes on now," Rudy quipped.

To my surprise, Rudy rose out of the driver's side and let the attendant take the wheel.  The tall driver walked around and let me out of the Rolls, holding out his hand to me as I stepped onto the sidewalk.  I didn't ask any more questions, I figured at this point they would just defeat the purpose.

On the other side of the entrance, I was met with the fanciest, most lavish restaurant I had ever seen, fancier perhaps than even the Ritz-Carlton.  Chandeliers, white tablecloths, everyone around me dressed to the nines.  I was almost reluctant to breathe the air, for fear it might cost me per every inhale.  Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a man who bore more than just a passing resemblance to Peter Straker walk around the corner. 

I turned back to ask Rudy, "Why are we here?"

"Well, it's a restaurant," Rudy said methodically.  "And people eat in restaurants. So I would venture a guess that-"

"But wha- I thought we were-"

"Madam, do you have a reservation?" The host cut in before he could respond. 

"What?" I asked, confused.   I drew closer.

"Do you have a reservation, madam?" he asked again.

"Um," I stammered.  "Uh..."

"Or are you meeting someone?" The host was being so patient, what a sweetie.

I glanced back at Rudy, who shrugged.  "I think," I began, "I think there's been some mista-"

And then my eyes drifted up over the host's shoulder to see someone standing there, hands clasped behind his back as he strode closer.  I blinked, and had to wonder to myself how I could still have it in me to be caught off guard by anything anymore. 

"It's all right, dear," he murmured to the host.  "They're with me, I'll take them."

"Of course, of course, Mr. Mercury," the host nodded quickly. "Do as you like."

Freddie turned to me then, a soft smile glowing on his face.

"Hello," he whispered.

"Hi," I said.  "I could be wrong, but this isn't Wessex."

"You're not disappointed, are you?" Freddie smirked. 

I shook my head.  "I just wish I could keep up sometimes.  My, my."

Then he had me spin gently around, and he took my hands, his eyes absorbing me in my pearled, white layered glory. 

"Better than I pictured," Freddie murmured.  "Oh, Julia, you're breathtaking."

He could talk.  I couldn't take my eyes off him.  I'd never seen him in a suit - at this age, that is.  Catsuits, wacky seventies jackets, leather pants, yes to all the above- but a black suit and tie at thirty years old?  Never.  But Freddie looked incredible, even with his shaggy late seventies' "do"- somehow it worked very, very well.  And now I focused in on the shining black gems, which were captivating at any time, in any circumstance.

"And you," I said finally, "look like James Bond."

Freddie laughed, cheeks flushing as he looked down.  "Now, let's not get too carried away."  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.  "We had better get back to the table before they start eating each other."  With that he led me further into the restaurant, and around the same corner, with Rudy close behind.

Then I squinted.  "They?"

"The others, of course," Freddie said dismissively.  "We won't be alone."

"Who-" I almost asked, but as soon as I saw it, the question seemed quite moot.  There, a few feet away, stood a table surrounded by six chairs, three of which were empty. The other three were occupied by Peter Straker, and John and Veronica Deacon, all of whom rose to greet us with loud cheers.

I covered my mouth.  I was dining tonight with all the people I told Freddie I would miss. 

_He doesn't miss a thing.  Whoa._

It seemed our talk would be delayed a few hours.  But honestly, that was fine by me.

 


	70. Plan Bs Make Memories

"Again," Freddie murmured softly, "I am so sorry about tonight."

"What for?" Veronica chirped. "I've had a lovely evening." And John nodded in agreement, grinning.

I tucked my arm in Freddie's. "As have I."

"You're too sweet. It's just, um- I know this is hardly a substitute for the-"

Quietly I laid a finger across his lips. "Freddie, don't say another word about it, or..."

"Or what?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Or I eat your egg roll."

"Hey, you can have it, darling, I'm finished."

"And then I drink your wine." I reached for his glass.

"Now, that's a step too far," Freddie laughed. Thunder boomed almost straight over our heads, the walls of the flat trembling with the sound. "See? Even your Boss thinks so."

"Besides," I said quietly, tapping Freddie's chest, "if anyone should be apologizing, it ought to be me. There you were, with big plans for writing songs and then, because of me-"

"What, you think I didn't write anything?" Freddie scoffed. "Darling, now don't _you_ be absurd. I finished one song and wrote another today. I'll show you later if you remind me. You'll like them- for different reasons."

The five of us were sitting comfortably round John's living room, tipsy with cabernet and full of takeaway fried rice and chow mein, while the rain gushed down outside. The only music came from my Android, which served as the centerpiece-

"What's all this then? Stop being so confusing! God, why can't you just frickin' tell the story and quit jumping around so much?" I hear you cry.

Oh, yes, I think I just jumped the gun here. Last chapter I ended with with us walking into an extremely upscale restaurant in the company of good friends. Sorry. I suppose I ought to elaborate. Very well. I shall explain, in so many words, how rapidly our best-laid plans can be turned inside out and leave us scrambling for a backup:

Freddie pulled out the chair at the head of the table for me and made some playfully pretentious comment about me being the "guest of honor." I smiled, shyly lowering my eyes. John was at my left, while Veronica took the place at my right. Freddie seated himself at the other end of the table, next to Rudy and Peter, apparently so that he could gaze fondly upon me "to my heart's content." A sweet sentiment, although I would have preferred him to be a little closer.

Truth be told, I was extremely nervous. For I still hadn't gotten over how fancy this restaurant was. The House of Lords in Vegas, true, was no casual affair, but the House of Lords did not also possess this refined, understood hush, this highbrow attitude, made no less intimidating by the fact that this place was British and not American, and serving French cuisine instead of good old-fashioned steaks. I felt like I was dining in a library- not deadly silent but reserved, stiff, with unseen eyes watching me closely for any uncouth behavior. Of course, I endlessly appreciated Freddie's sweet effort to spoil me this way- but I was afraid to lean my back against the chair. I took comfort from John's expression; he didn't seem any more at ease than I.

The waiter, a soft little man with a receding hairline, approached and welcomed us, handing Freddie the wine list. The special of the night, if I remember correctly, dealt with sweetbreads in a caper mignonette sauce with some sauteed whatever on the side.

"What are sweetbreads again?" I whispered to Veronica.

"Calf organs, I think," she whispered back.

_I'm sorry I asked._ "Yummy," I muttered.

Freddie ordered us two bottles of red wine from the reserve collection, and waiter scuttled off. I started looking over the menu, my eyes bugging alternately at the prices and the dishes' contents. If I was ordering anything, it would be a salad.

We heard a faint roll of thunder outside. The forecast on the radio had predicted a centimeter or two of precipitation. What a rainy July this was shaping up to be.

Conversation wasn't difficult, but it was indeed a little strained at first. John sat right next to me; I wanted to tell him all about yesterday, but I didn't want some plainclothes journalist lurking in the shadows to spring out and record me. I looked over the top of my menu at Freddie, who was lost in a conversation with Straker. As much as I wanted to join in, I couldn't do so without being a little loud. _I never thought I would think this,_ I mused inwardly, _but I feel a lot like Mary right now._

I turned to John and smiled. "So what did you guys end up doing after I left?"

"Oh, you know," he murmured awkwardly. "We, uh, did record the backing track of 'Champions.' Freddie's got that whole thing mapped out in his head, so all we have to do is put it together and, you know, go from there."

"Did you start any of 'Spread Your Wings'?"

"Yeah, we started that on Monday."

"Anything else of yours?"

"I haven't written anything else."

"You haven't?"

"No, I uh, usually just write one song and that's basically enough for me, I don't- Freddie and Brian are the main ones, so I don't like to get too ambitious."

But there were two songs by John on _News of the World_ , and there were three by Freddie. But so far as I knew, Freddie had penned just two tunes, and John could claim only "Spread Your Wings." Whatever happened to "Get Down, Make Love" and "Who Needs You"? Was this my doing?

I mused aloud, "But Roger's written two for the album."

John nodded. "And they're quite good, too, he's clever."

"I- yeah, they're- good. I suppose. 'Sheer Heart Attack' is the good one."

That's when John leaned over and whispered into my ear, "Okay, I can't stand it anymore. What happened?"

I laughed, feeling more at ease. It was so nice to be this close with John. "With whom?"

"With you and that fellow making eyes across the table."

'Making eyes? Oh please." I turned to his wife. "Veronica-"

"Please, call me Ron, or Ronnie. It doesn't take quite so much time," she smiled.

"Ron and John. That's so sweet. Ron, is Freddie making eyes?"

Veronica looked, and tapped her cheek. "See for yourself."

"Okay. Ronnie says no." I murmured playfully. "Or did you mean Ol' Straker there, John?"

"If it's personal, I won't intrude," John said with a shrug.

I whispered to them both, "It's not personal, it's just private, and I'd tell you if it wasn't so-"

"Angel, don't you know it's rude to whisper?" Freddie called in a more than loud enough voice for everyone within ten feet of our table to hear.

"It's even ruder to interrupt," I whisper-shouted back. "Shh."

Freddie stuck his tongue out at me and concealed himself behind his menu. Thanks to Freddie being obnoxious (he wasn't fazed at all by the riches surrounding us- in his mind, these were his kinds of people), we were now drawing stares from around the restaurant. One fellow in particular caught my attention. Not because he bore any connection to my prince, exactly, but because of the black bag he had slung around the back of his chair. It looked like one of those old camera knapsacks. I gulped.

"Hey, John," I murmured, nodding toward the photographer. "Do you recognize that guy?"

"Not really," he said. "Why?"

"He's got a camera."

"I dunno- he looks like a member of the press though."

"How do you know?"

"They all have the same expression."

I snickered. "Maybe you guys just don't like the press."

"That, too."

"If it's any consolation, I don't either." _I hail from the era of Fake News, after all. How can I like them?_

As I said this to myself, however, the man reached for his bag and opened it, still staring right at us. A strange feeling of dread filled my heart when he drew out a small camera. He peered into the film compartment, made sure he had enough. _Can they even do that?_ I asked myself. _I guess they can, look at TMZ. God! Why can't Freddie and the rest of us just have a nice meal out without being shot at like sitting ducks in a gallery?_

I turned to tell Freddie, but the waiter had returned with the wine, and was now opening the first bottle for him. The thunder rolled again, much louder this time. In quiet horror, I watched the press hog lift up his camera, remove the lens cover. There was no flash attachment, which meant he could take as many pictures as he liked and still remain a covert operator. I didn't hate cameras, I just hated when they were locked, loaded, and in the wrong hands- like now.

(I know this sounds a little dramatic, but you have to understand, I still believed I was never supposed to be there, and that so much as one picture of me could shatter Time. Gullible fool I was. I've never been the best at thinking outside the box.)

The man aimed his camera right at us, finger twitching over the button.

And then the lights flashed out.

The women of British high society screamed as Le Gavroche was plunged into darkness. We jumped a little- not because of the lights, but screams have a way of digging their claws into a person's spine. Freddie's candlelit face contorted and demanded, "What in-?"

"Maybe there's a power failure," Veronica suggested calmly.

A great commotion rose from the kitchen. Suddenly the doors burst open and a fellow charged through the dining area, causing a couple of ladies to shriek again. Another man followed close behind, it was too dark to see him, but he was certainly loud enough for us to notice him: "Call the police, someone! Get him!"

"Oh, coo," the waiter's pear-shaped shadow remarked. "I know him." He pointed at the man disappearing into the front room and then out into the rain.

"You do?" I asked.

"He was sacked last week," he explained. "Huge row with the owner here. I suppose he felt like exacting vengeance."

"Wait, so he cut the power?" Straker asked.

"It certainly would seem that way," the waiter mused. "Perhaps not, but then, why else would he have those electrical shears in his hand?"

The six of us kind of sat there a moment, let that sink in while the rest of the restaurant more or less enjoyed a nervous breakdown around us. I had to force myself not to laugh, I couldn't help thinking it was funny. The waiter set down the opened bottle of wine to sneak off unnoticed, but Freddie stopped him before he turned away.

He spoke these two soft, but endlessly embarrassed, words: "Check, please."

We were obviously going to have to figure something else out.

So all six of us joined the mass exodus from Le Gavroche, and we waited in the front area for the valet attendants to come get our cars, as it was too wet and our attire too nice to stand outside. Freddie's hands were shoved into his pockets, his mouth working in sheer upset, and Peter too looked decidedly bummed- but no one else in our little group seemed to mind very much, least of all me.

The valet attendant brought the Rolls around first, and Rudy opened up the passenger door. Freddie offered to take us out somewhere else. Peter enthusiastically jumped on board, suggesting some club only a few blocks away. However, the Deacons declined the offer, as Veronica wanted to go home and check on Robert. Julie, John's sister, was keeping watch, but the boy apparently feared thunderstorms, and Veronica wanted to be there to calm him down should the booms and bangs wake him.

As Peter slipped into the Rolls first, John sighed. "I guess we'll have to hear that story another day then."

"Oh, what a shame!" Veronica cried. "Here. Why don't you two come back home with us and you can tell us what all this hullabaloo has been about _?"_

I blinked. "What hullabaloo?"

John half-smiled. "Vegas."

"Oh, right. _That_ hullabaloo."

I looked at Freddie, whose expression said "no" without him even having to articulate the word. All he did, however, was shrug his shoulders and mutter, "It's up to you, darling."

_Crap, I hate being the deciding factor. Damn my stupid birthday!_

We were getting rained on, so I had to make a choice quickly. "Well," I hummed, "I would like to meet Robert-"

"I guess we'll go with them, then," Freddie mumbled half-heartedly.

I stammered, "Wait, wait-"

"Brilliant!" Veronica decided. "Come back home with us, dinner will take care of itself, we already have the wine- not that I'll be partaking, but it's there."

So before I could walk my words back, we two piled into the back seat of John's sedan, and Freddie waved goodbye to Peter and Rudy- but not before apologizing profusely to his friend. Poor Freddie, he did hate it so when a plan of his fell apart.

We wound up ordering takeaway Chinese food on our way to John's and Veronica's house; it was my idea, I guess, because I again made the mistake of saying "Chinese food, mmm" when we passed one such restaurant. The idea was met with unanimous agreement, with one abstention- Freddie, who was still sulking and feeling small. I can only imagine what the guy taking our order must have thought, seeing all four of us dressed for a ball, speckled here and there with the rain- two rising celebrities and their female counterparts ordering chow mein and egg rolls with a few fortune cookies thrown in for fun.

A couple of people approached us, asked for autographs, and Freddie flatly ignored them. All we other three could do was sigh. He was working himself into such a funk.

We arrived at the Deacons' house, and Freddie let himself out of the back, closing the door before I could slip out. Oh, how quickly he could shift from the World's Sweetest Prince into the World's Biggest Heel. I could understand feeling embarrassed about a plan falling through, but there was no reason to be rude and take it out on everyone else.

We entered the house, food and wine in hand. John thanked his sister for watching the boy, and briefly introduced us to her before she left. Freddie remained silent through all this, scarcely nodding his head to Julie when she walked out bidding goodbye. By now I'd just about had it.

"Could you excuse us a minute?" I whispered to my friends.

Veronica announced, "I think I'd better go check on Robert," and disappeared down the hall.

"I'll just go park the car in the garage," John murmured, "Be back in a minute." 

So now we were alone in the Deacons' living room. I marched up to Freddie, who was standing with his hands planted defiantly on his hips, and tapped his shoulder. He turned, his lips pursing.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"Freddie, look, I didn't mean to cheat you of a good time with Straker."

He squinted. "What?"

"Is that what you're upset about? If it is, I'm sor-"

"No, darling, I'm sorry," he cut me off.

Now I was squinting. "What for?"

"Because of the, um- way things turned out tonight. I wanted to spoil you a little, but apparently that wasn't in the plan."

"Freddie, you silly, that's all you've been doing is spoiling me, you didn't have to go spend a fortune- another one- to try and impress-"

"And thank you so much for assuming I think of nothing aside of clubs and f---ing and things like that."

"I don't-"

"Uh, yeah, you do."

"Well," I conceded gently, "maybe you _would_ have preferred to go live it up with him, and once again I more or less stood in the way of your fun-"

"Stop," he snapped. "Just stop." He walked a little away from me and stared out the window, arms folded. Quietly I sidled up next to him. Freddie only shot me a sideways glance, letting out a frustrated little sigh.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Freddie, what's wrong?"

He shook his head without a word.

"Well... Going back to what you said before," I whispered, "There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I just ruin everything," Freddie said morosely.

"Oh, now, don't be ridiculous. Were you the guy who cut the frickin' wire? Did you plan all that? Things happen. It's really not the end of the world."

"Why does everything have to go wrong with us? Something always gets in the way, f---s things up. Why?" 

"Because that's life," I said. 

"All the same..." Freddie snarked something else under his breath, too softly for me to make out. 

"What?"

"I said, all the same, I get this feeling that- I mean, at this rate, I don't know why you wouldn't leave right n-"

"Freddie, listen to me." I interrupted. My moody, rambling prince turned to face me again, and the artless, but honest, words flew from my lips:

"It was so sweet of you to arrange the reservation, the place was beautiful, and I thank you. But in the grand scheme of things, Le Gavroche can stick it. It's a really fancy restaurant, there's bazillions of those, but there's only one of you, and no matter what it is we're doing or where we are, it's- it's enough for me just to be with you. Screw diamonds, screw Le Gavroche, screw all that stuff. It's you. Okay?"

The dark eyes gazed down into mine. That's when a raindrop that had landed in the thick, long lashes caught my attention. I put my hand up and tried to touch it, but he jerked his head away, blinking.

"What are you doing?" he muttered.

"I love your eyelashes," I said softly, my hand following and resting gently against the side of his face. This time he didn't pull back.

"And," I added as my fingers grazed each feature mentioned, "I love your eyebrows, and your cheeks, and this scar, and your nose-"

"Someday I'll tell you how I got that scar," he whispered. His eyes were softening.

"Mm. Good. I'd love to know. And your lips, and your teeth, and-"

"You don't love my teeth."

I frowned. "I just said I did."

The gleam was back! Hurray! "Exactly. You're just saying you do."

"Oh, shut up," I talked over him. "I love your face, your hair, your soul, your heart, and your moods. I mean, I _really_ love your moods."

"F--- off, now you're just being cheeky-"

"In short, you jackass, I love you, now stop moping."

We cracked up. Freddie nuzzled the side of my face, wrapping his arms around me while I giggled into his shoulder. He lifted my chin, then, and I smiled.

"How do you do that?" he asked. "How is it you can take the mickey out of me the way you do, without resulting in, uh-"

"Major bloodshed?"

He nodded, face deadpan. "Right."

_Seven years of study plus two weeks of complete immersion in you and your world, equals one canny Freddie navigator, if I do say so myself._ But I smiled and instead said aloud, "Because, darling, you just can't resist me."

"No, that's not it, it's something else," he sighed dryly. "Oh, it'll come to me. But it's definitely not that."

My eyes narrowed, jaw slack with fake shock. "Why, you- you-"

But before I could think of some really devastating name to call him, Freddie took my hands and pulled me in for a kiss. Like always, I melted, my arms slipping around his back to hold him closer. 

Click! BZZZ.

Freddie and I backed away from each other, startled.

"Too late," John chuckled. "Gotcha."

I sighed. "Et tu, John?"

He tore the quickly developing Polaroid out of the slot and lifted the camera again. "I want one more for the album. A natural pose, please."

Freddie snickered. "As if the last one wasn't." But he put his arm around my shoulders and turned his face so that we stood cheek-to-cheek, both of us smiling widely.

"Oh, that's lovely."

Click! BZZZ.

Veronica's voice floated from the hall, "If you two are finished making up, would you please go into the kitchen and take down some wine glasses from the cupboard?"

"Straker." Throwing a glare Freddie's way, I growled, "All right, let's go, you-"

Freddie kissed me again. "Me, what?"

I rolled my eyes. "You ...dog." I dug my elbows gently into his ribs, and made for the cupboard. But Freddie was swift and slippery; he slapped my bottom just before I stepped out of reach. 

"We'll pick up where we left off later tonight," he said slyly. "You have been warned."

All I could do was glare and laugh in that order. Another snit thoroughly dissolved.

Starting here, and continuing for another few hours, I actually forgot to fret over the Decision. But it wouldn't be long before I made up for lost time, and then some. Believe me.

******************************************************************************************

Now, back to where we were:

The five of us (for Rudy had joined us right after dropping off Straker) were sitting comfortably round the parlor, tipsy with cabernet and full of takeaway fried rice and chow mein, while it drizzled outside. Freddie had long since shed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie (well, I loosened his tie anyway), and I had kicked off my shoes. We were in the company of good friends, which meant we could be comfortable; I guess we just decided to go big or go home.

Of course, John and Veronica wanted to know the whole story. The Relic, Vegas, the fiasco of two nights prior- they asked for a full explanation, full knowledge of the situation. So, Freddie and I (and Rudy, at intervals) unloaded just about everything (but not what made me run, that was strictly off limits- "fight" again was as in-depth as that became), even down to chartering Led Zeppelin's _Starship._ And our audience of two listened, captivated through it all, and promised that they would keep our little international jaunt under wraps. There were things the rest of the world didn't need to know, and this certainly qualified.

Incidentally, I have to say, Veronica was so funny about my phone. After she emerged from Robert's nursery and found Motown soul music (John's idea) wafting from the small, lit-up rectangle sitting amongst the glasses, she frowned.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Oh, that's her Magic Mirror," Freddie answered, as though she had asked about the weather.

"Her what?"

John shrugged and explained, "Julia is from the future, Ron."

"Ohhh," she nodded calmly. "Right."

And she accepted it, just like that. I tried not to laugh. This time I succeeded- but Freddie did shoot me a little smirk and a wink. Perhaps I didn't laugh- but I couldn't help a grin.

After we finished eating and cleaned up a bit, we sat and just talked in the parlor. It felt strangely normal, a sweet kind of effortless, being with John and his family, Freddie sitting beside me on the sofa with his arm around my shoulders, and even the watchful Rudy reclining in the comfy chair as he emptied his glass of wine. I didn't feel like I was in the presence of celebrities, of rock stars. The fact that the guy sitting across from me would write "Another One Bites the Dust" three years from now, and the bloke against whose shoulder I was leaning was lusted after by half the world, failed to cross my mind. These were my friends- and Freddie was my love. 

"Can you believe those rotters this afternoon?" John, who was tired of wine and had busted into his gin, cried suddenly. "They drive me f---ing mad. I mean, you do as well, Freddie, sometimes, but today, it was them."

Veronica smiled. "It's never Brian and Roger, it's always 'them,' like they're conjoined or something."

"Well, they are!" John muttered. "Sometimes I just wanna bust their heads- but only a little, not too much. Just enough to shake their brains up a bit."

"That's very considerate of you, John," I said with a straight face. "I'm sure we _all_ could use a little brain shake every now and then."

"What happened again?" Freddie asked.

"Oh, you know, they were just rowing about the speed of the damn song, the 'Sheer Heart Attack' one, and here I am, trying to keep up with one or the other- I just want them to make up their minds is all."

"Do you guys really fight that much?" I asked.

"Julia, you've seen us. We fight like cats."

"But enough about them." John raised his hand a little. "I'd like to make a toast, I think."

"Then on your feet, my good man!" Freddie boomed. "And no mumbling!"

"Yes, mum," John murmured thickly, rising from his seat. He held up his glass toward Veronica and joked, "More wine, love?"

"No, sir, you've had enough for the three of us," she said.

"Don't you mean, five?" Freddie corrected her.

"Oh, heavens, I hope not," John gulped, then added quickly, "I mean, one at a time. At most, two, but I don't think there's any twins in the family, so that's highly unlikely anyway."

"What are you babbling about?" Freddie frowned.

John didn't answer. He lifted his glass, and we followed suit with our own. At last he said, in a voice we all could hear as clearly as anything, "To our good friend Julia, happy birthday, and to the future from which she comes."

"Cheers!" all cried.

"You guys," I whispered.

But John wasn't finished. "And also to my very best friend, my wife, who puts up with me, and Robert- and the little fellow who shall join us some time next year- when did the doctor say, Ron?"

"Some time in February."

"Wait, what?" Freddie's eyes widened. "Veronica, darling, don't tell me you're on the nest again?"

"I suppose I am," she shrugged with a grin. John chuckled a little sheepishly.

So of course we all cried congratulations for them, shaking John's hand, hugging Veronica, asking what names were they thinking depending on the sex ("If it's a girl, maybe Laura or Elizabeth, and if it's another boy, it's a toss-up between David and Michael, so far"). Then we cried all together, "Cheers!" and drank up.

"Now let's hear from you," Veronica declared. "So when's the day?"

"The day?" I blinked. "What day?"

But Freddie replied with deceptive nonchalance, "Well, actually we were thinking of having the ceremony in Japan during the tour. You know, sort of kill two birds with one stone. I know this place in Kyoto that would be just perfect."   
  
This wasn't helping. "What ceremony?"  
  
"Why, _the_ ceremony, dear. Remember?"  
  
"Ah, yes, of course," I replied, still confused. "Why in Japan?"  
  
"Oh, right, I forgot, you've never been. Because in autumn, there's nowhere lovelier- and you'd look radiant in a silk kimono. Don't you think, John?"

  
"Which part?" John quipped.

"Both."

"Japan is beautiful anytime," John said thoughtfully, "But I prefer here, honestly."

"Perhaps, but everyone ought to visit there at least once, and that's the best reason I can think of." Freddie smiled, turning to me. "What do you say?"

  
I had no idea what he was talking about, or if he was even being serious, so to be on the safe side, I quipped, "Maybe. Just hold on, let me think about it. Besides, I make no promises, and no plans, until I've read my fortune."

So I disappeared back into the dining room, where we had left our fortune cookies. "Anyone else want theirs?"

"Me!" John cried. "I'll come get it, hold o- whoa! Sorry, love, tripped over your foot there."

I laughed to myself. No doubt he was slightly hammered. 

"Stay there," I called back. "I'm on my way."

I brought all of them out just to be certain I missed no one. Plopping back down next to Freddie, I placed one into his palm. 

"These things are so gauche," Freddie sniffed pompously- and then he too broke into the cookie and read his fortune. " _You will rekindle a long-lost friendship this weekend_. And my lucky numbers, let's see- six, six, six-"

"Stop that!" I laughed, pushing him.

"-Thirteen, and thirty-nine. Great, now I can skip the horoscope page in the paper this week."

"That's a little eerie," Veronica noted. "Mine says, _Your world will soon revolve around a handsome young stranger."_ She pondered the words a moment. "Hmm. Maybe it _will_ be another boy." _  
_

"It's just for fun, Ron, I wouldn't read too-" John looked at his. _"Therat race is rough- but somewhere there's a hand reaching out to carry you through."  
_

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Words of wisdom, from the mouth of a biscuit." _  
_

"Yeah, but I actually sort of like mine," John murmured. "It's a rough rat race. Hmm."

"Dog eat dog," I offered without thinking. _  
_

"Yeah! It's a dog eat dog rat race. It's- dog eat dog in this rat race- hey, hey, where's a pencil, Ron, I need to write this down..."

And right before our very eyes, with a little coaching from all four of us, John wrote a few lines down in under three minutes.

Then John paused a moment, and wrote one last line, crossing something out and rewriting a word or two in its place. _  
_

"I'll deal with you later," he said ominously to the paper. _  
_

"Can I see?" I asked. John handed me the sheet, and I read what he had so far:

_But it's dog eat dog in this rat race_

_And it leaves you bleeding, falling flat on your face_

_Reaching out for a helping hand-_

_**Who needs** (these words were crossed out and replaced) Where is that helping hand?_

_Who needs you -I don't need you- Who needs you?_

I covered my mouth. "John, this is a great start." _And I know exactly where this is going to end... Whew, that was a close one!_

"What's yours say, Rudy?" Freddie asked.

Rudy kind of laughed. "I'm saving mine for later."

Sitting back down, I cracked my cookie open and read it to myself. My brows knit. "Huh. Listen to this: _Sometimes one must let go, so that he might later have a better grasp."_

A playful "Ooo" echoed around me. But Freddie didn't appear quite so amused. 

"I'm not sure I like that one," he murmured.

"Why not? I thought it was deep."

"I'm wary of anything that advises you to do any letting go," he replied.

"It's just a gauche little biscuit, Freddie," I teased, popping the hard shell into my mouth. "These things aren't even Chinese."

He looked at me a little funny, then rose from the sofa. "If you'll excuse me a moment..."

"Hey, wait. Don't you want to hear my lucky numbers?"

"I'll be back in a minute," he said. "Tell me then."

Freddie disappeared down the hall. And I read my lucky numbers to myself: 3, 8, 13, 21, 30. I shrugged, and folded the little slip into my pocket to be forgotten about and disintegrated in the wash on a later occasion.

I walked into the kitchen and put my wine glass into their dishwasher. The two Polaroids John had snapped of us lay on the counter. With a smile, I looked them over. I didn't mind pictures of Freddie and me in the hands of John Deacon; I trusted him not to let the wrong people get a hold of such things, private man that he was.

For the longest time I just stared at the photograph of our kiss, memorizing every detail- the way we clung to one another, how intimately Freddie's lips pressed against mine. I must say, it looked as beautiful as it felt. 

_That's me in his arms_ , I thought to myself, almost in disbelief. _He's kissing me_. 

Nevertheless, my happiness again fell under siege with those same ever-mounting doubts and the evidence to back them up. They had run through my head so much I hardly even needed to call attention to them anymore. Oh, why couldn't I revel in carefree love for a single breath? But this time it didn't stop there. 

It worsened. By a lot.

Behind me my Android was still circulating my music playlist. And the song it chose next could not have been more unfortunate. It wasn't a love song. It wasn't your typical tear-jerking heartbreak tune. No, no. Nothing like that.

It was Ray Charles's cover of "America, the Beautiful."

And suddenly I was rocketed back to one long ago summer, vacationing on the white sands of Biloxi, Mississippi. My family and I were spending the Fourth of July there, and as we drove through that evening we watched as people all along the beach set off their fireworks, sending them high into the air so that the coast became a miles-long stretch of sporadic color. The windows were rolled down, and that wonderfully American song as sung by Ray was what boomed from the speakers as the wheels rolled under us. A simple memory, and perhaps not even one worth the telling. But it's one of my fondest, and most emotional. 

I clenched my hands together so hard I cut off their blood flow. Freddie could bend and shape and twist me around on myself all day long. But the things that composed me- my family, my country, my faith- I couldn't change, ever. They were as much a part of me as he- if not more. Those things were my foundation, I could count on them, fall back on them when I stumbled. Maybe Freddie loved me, but could I really count on him? Did I have any right to expect to be able to, all things considered?

I had one chance, one choice. Here I stood at a fork in the road of my Life. Certainty vs. narrow odds. Knowledge vs. blind faith. My life vs. my love.

God. What kind of choice is that, anyway?

But it was mine all the same. And, right there, in the Deacons' kitchen, our pictures still between my fingers, I made it. 

For no particular reason I felt myself walk numbly down the hall. 


	71. Birdman's Eye View: It's About Faith

Freddie emerges from the hall, humming a little something under his breath. His eyes scan the parlor. "Where's Julia?"

"Hm?" I look up. For I didn't even notice she had disappeared until now, when Freddie mentions it. My mind is still set on a little tune that's been developing ever since I opened that silly fortune cookie. I'm not drunk, by the way, I'm just a little woozy. I've been officially drunk before, and on such occasions I was never this sentient; I'm sober enough to catch the difference.

There's Ray Charles, a personal favorite of mine (along with Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder- I do love those American blues and funky soul), coming from the dining room. I'm as English as Freddie is unpredictable, but I can't help swaying a little to his version of "America the Beautiful." Good is good under any circumstances.

Freddie hears it, too, but it has a different effect on him. His eyes narrow a little. Without warning he darts across the parlor out of sight. Behind me the music stops, and some other song by Sam and Dave replaces Ray. I almost protest, almost complain "Freddie, I was enjoying that!" but I don't. There's no point.

"Did anybody see where she went?" Freddie asks, his voice now harboring an edge of fear.

"She went down the hall," Rudy says, waving his hand. 

"Oh, right," he nods, then sighs. "I swear, she's like the wind."

With that, Freddie sits back down on the sofa and takes one more sip of wine. Not to be over-analytical, but he seems tense all of a sudden. His fingers drum anxiously against his knee, and he looks over his shoulder as if he's waiting for Julia to stroll back in at any second. 

"I can go get her," I offer as I rise slowly to my feet. 

"No, John, I'm just being a little paranoid, it's okay-"

"Not at all! I can at least go see what she's up to," I reply. "I'm curious now."

So I move a little clumsily down the hall, peer into the rooms there. When I check Robert's nursery, I see her silhouette against the corner thanks to his little nightlight. I tiptoe inside, but Julia doesn't notice. She's sitting quietly in the rocking chair, head in her hands, although from what I can see, she isn't crying. But there's nothing about her huddled form that implies she is happy. And only two minutes ago she was poking at Freddie about lucky numbers. My God, these two. Her emotions swing just as randomly as his. 

"Julia?" I whisper. 

She sits up. "Oh, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be-"

"It's fine, it's fine. What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm all right."

Those words again. Now I know something's wrong. "That's not true, is it?"

Julia sighs. "No."

"Do tell, please." 

But tonight, she won't coax the words out. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"John, if I can't tell him, then I can't tell you."

"Tell who? Freddie?"

"It's complicated, all right?" she whispers. 

I stand there awkwardly a moment, then I nod. "If you need a minute, I can leave-"

"You don't have to, it's fine, I'm the one trespassing anyway. I guess that's just what I do." She chuckles sadly. "I don't mean to trespass, I just keep winding up in the middle of everything. What for?"

I shrug, then come closer. "You're not, uh, trespassing, Freddie was just worried about you, that's why I'm here."

"Worried? Why?"

"He didn't know where you went."

Julia half-smiles. "He's funny," is all she says, speaking more to herself than to me. "What earns me his attention?"

I blink. "Well- you're nice. And pretty. And a good friend."

"But so is Mar- oh, God!" she exclaims. "It just doesn't stop!" 

Now there's tears in her throat. I'm clearly not helping. I think of sending Freddie in to calm her down, but I don't know if he'll make it better or worse. 

Robert stirs in his crib. "Dad-deee...." he murmurs sleepily.

"Oh, no, I woke him," she whispers. "I'm sorry..."

"It's quite all right," I say, leaning over and patting the boy's head. "Come say hello."

After a minute, Julia stands up, walks over and looks in at him. Right away she smiles, but it's that pale smile from two nights ago. The light from the hall is just enough so she can see his groggy face. Already he's falling back to sleep.

"He's so cute," she coos. "Hi there, Robert. Oh, I love his curls, he must get those from you."

"I don't know about that," I mutter, feeling my face heat up. "I think he looks more like his mum."

"Maybe, but he's definitely got your mouth."

I look at her. "What does that mean?" 

"That you have a nice mouth, and this kid is lucky to have it," she pops back softly. "What did you think I meant?"

I just smile. _I'll be damned. God made two of them._

"He's getting so big so fast. I already can't wait till the next one arrives," I whisper. Suddenly I have an idea. "Hey, do you know what it'll be?"

"What?"

"Is it going to be a boy or a girl? Do you know?" 

"Actually," she muses, "I believe I do."

"Well?"

"John, you don't want me to spoil the surprise, do you?" she chides me. "I've put my fingers in enough pies the past two weeks. That needs to unfold in its proper time."

"Oh, very well," I sigh. "You'd do it for Freddie, though."

Julia kind of chuckles and shrugs. But she doesn't deny it. Her eyes study Robert quietly for the next few seconds, and then she whispers, "John?"

"Hm?"

She pauses. "Have you ever had to make a really hard choice, one you knew would define the course of the rest of your life?"

"Well- I mean, we all do at some point, right?"

Julia nods, brows knitting a bit. That's not the answer she was hoping for, so she goes on. "I mean- let me put it like this. Let's say, you get stranded in some foreign country, miles and miles from home. And... in the meantime, you meet a girl from this country, and you fall madly in love with her, and she with you- but she has a reputation for being a man-eater. And, uh, every day you spend near her, there's some kind of reminder that she will not maintain romantic relationships for very long. 

"And then one day, you just stumble upon a one way ticket back, set for the very next day at high noon- but there's a catch."

"I can't come back?" I guess.

"Right. And you can't bring anyone with you. It's the last trip ever from this country to your home. You don't get another chance; if you stay, that means you sever all ties to that world, and you stay right where you are, but if you go," she shudders, "you'll... never see the woman you love ever again."

Julia stares blankly at her Polaroid pictures, and I notice for the first time that there's a band on her ring finger. "So," she finishes. "What would you do? Would you choose your love, or your life?"

And it's a truly hard question, she's asking me. I'm no fool, I know exactly what she's on about. I've talked to K and Tim enough times to know that Julia isn't from around here. But even if I were to remove her from the picture, I honestly can't give a straight yes or no answer. 

"I'm not asking your advice," she says after a moment. "I just want to know what you would do."

So I say, "I guess it depends on the lover, really, and how much you trust them- how much you, you know, believe in them."

"Faith," she murmurs. "I suppose you're right. It's about faith."

Quietly I ask her, though it's none of my business, "Do you have faith in Freddie?"

"What does this have to do with F-"

"Oh, Julia, come on. I'm not stupid, you know." I draw back a little, deciding I might have been a little too vitriolic there, and in a less edgy voice I go on- or would go on, that is, but we are interrupted.

"What are you two doing in here?" My wife's voice gently cuts in. I turn, and she steps into the nursery.

"We're just awkwardly staring at little boys while they sleep," Julia whispers with a smile.

Freddie's head appears rather comically in the doorway. "You mean, you like to do that, too?" he murmurs. 

"Every chance I get, fella," Julia replies. "For the same reasons, though, right?"

Freddie snickers, nodding. "One can only hope."

Her smile widens, but something in her eyes changes, grows sadder, when she looks at Freddie. Perhaps I'm imagining things again, for the change is clearly lost on him. He walks in as well, and now the four of us are standing in Robert's bedroom and whispering. What a weird bunch of people we are.

"So tell me again, where is it you found this one?" Freddie asks in a lofty whisper. "Was it Harrods?"

"No," Veronica laughs. "We sent in for Robert. Mail order."

"Ah, yes, that's right! I think they sell them at Harrods, too, though, they have everything. That would be worth a shopping trip right there. Don't you think, darling?" 

Freddie shoots a look at Julia, as if he's trying to measure her response to his words. I saw him do the same thing after he made his remarks about the "ceremony" earlier. But she only chuckles and kisses his shoulder, gives him nothing to bounce off of. She's terribly quick with the slippery, noncommittal answers. 

"How many do you think we should invest in?" he quips to her softly. 

"You said you had your heart set on twelve," she whispers back. "Is that still the plan?"

"No, that might be more than we could handle. I'd say eleven is closer to the mark."

"Eleven, my God," she laughs. "We could have our own baseball team. Boys or girls?"

"I was thinking, five mini-mes, and six mini-yous, to keep the mini-mes in line."

"You think they'll let us just walk out of Harrods with eleven children?"

"Well, we'll have to do it in installments, you know, one at a time. Or else, yes, they might get a little suspicious, I think."

They've clearly forgotten they're not alone. Veronica smiles at me in an "Aren't they precious?" sort of way. 

"Silly man," Julia purrs. "You wouldn't last two minutes as a dad."

"Whatever gives you that idea?"

"I know you. In no time at all, you'd be sick to death of the whole parenting business."

"Parenting is for nannies," Freddie explains simply. "That leaves just the spoiling to us."

"You really want your kids to turn out to be spoiled rotten little beasts?"

"Why not? They'd be chips off the old block. The rottener, the better."

Julia presses a little closer against Freddie's side. "So tell me, since when did you want babies?"

"Darling. Haven't you heard? They're the latest trend. I mean, look, John has one and a half, and he's always ahead of the curve anyway."

Veronica bursts out laughing. It is a little funny; no one's ever been able to fit me and "ahead of the curve" in the same sentence without including the word "not" somewhere in the middle.

Julia's hand subtly closes over Freddie's, and he immediately turns his over so that now their fingers are interlocking. Veronica tugs on my sleeve, silently tells me that we should "give them a moment," and slips out of the nursery. I follow, albeit begrudgingly, but not before I watch them affectionately nuzzle each other's noses. 

'You know what I think?" Veronica murmurs.

"What?" I say at a normal volume. We're back in the parlor, so we no longer have to speak in low voices.

"It could be they didn't just fake a marriage," she keeps whispering. "I think they might really be married."

I almost shrug it off, but then I do a double take. "You think so?"

"I mean, it makes sense. They act like newlyweds just come back from their honeymoon."

"Still on their honeymoon, more like. And she's wearing a ring," I add, thinking back to Roger's observation at the club about married women. "But, I dunno, I don't think- I mean, you couldn't pay Freddie to get married."

"You wouldn't have to," Freddie's driver murmurs. "He'll do it for free."

I turn. "What do you mean?"

But the tall, burly fellow says nothing else, and instead rises to his feet when Julia and Freddie appear from the hall. Only yesterday, wasn't it, that he joked about her being heartless- and only two days ago, that she called him a vampire. Only twenty-four hours prior to this very minute, all one thought the other felt was hatred. And now, look at them, holding hands, standing so close together. My wife hit the nail on the head; lovecats, indeed they are.

"We should probably be heading home, darlings, let you do your thing," Freddie informs us, with a little sly glance at the girl. "There's, um, a few things we need to take care of ourselves."

'We do," Julia mutters a little absently, but then she notices his tone, and her brow arches. "We do?"

He doesn't verbally respond. "Thanks for being so understanding- and for letting us crash your house again."

It's here that we come around to farewells, giving hugs and claps on the shoulders, everybody telling everybody they had a marvelous night.

Freddie picks up his suit jacket and drapes it over his arm. As he does, something black falls out of the inside pocket, but he bends down and snatches it back off the floor before my eyes can adjust and identify it. Julia steps into the kitchen, asking where she might find a black ballpoint pen- and if anyone has seen her shoes.

It's at that very moment, as Freddie stands back up and takes a step, that he trips over one of her sandals and just barely keeps from falling flat onto his face.

He kneels on the floor and waves the shoes around like a captured battle flag. "Found them," he announces in a slightly irritated, but nonetheless playful, singsong.

Julia runs back out, having heard him stumble. "Oh, I'm so sorry..."

Freddie glares at her and throws her the shoes. "Next time I'll be throwing them _at_ you instead of _to_ you."

"Warning noted," Julia whispers. "Nothing broken?"

"Only my spirit," Freddie sighs dramatically, sending Julia into another giggling fit as she slides her feet into the wedges. 

"Oh, I'm glad you think it's so funny," he sniffs, pretending to get emotional. "If you're going to laugh at me, you could at least help me to my feet so I can take it standing up." 

"Drama queen," she murmurs. But she walks over and takes his hand, pulling him back upright.

My wife can't take it anymore. "Are you two married?"

Freddie's brows raise. "What?"

"Is Julia your wife? Is that what really went down in Sin City?"

But the interesting thing is, neither Freddie nor Julia reply. They look at each other, then back at us- and all they do is smile. Peas in a pod. It's almost a little scary.

Veronica and I follow our friends out to the car once they've gotten themselves together. Julia throws her arms around my wife one last time. But her face, which is turned toward me, changes- and a look of despair fills her big eyes. 

Then she walks up to me, asking my wife, "Ron, you don't mind if I kiss your husband goodbye, do you?"

Freddie puts his hands on his hips, prompting her to add hastily, "On the cheek."

Veronica smiles and nods her consent. So Julia leans forward, gently pecks my right cheek. As she does, she pushes one of the pictures into my hand. 

Behind us Freddie mutters, "I noticed you didn't ask my permission."  
  
To which Julia replies cheekily, "What? Is John your husband too?"

Freddie immediately breaks down laughing as they clamber into the back of the Rolls. I can't help but notice the way his face seems to glow with happiness.

Granted, I am not around Freddie all the time. What he does with his private life is entirely his affair. But in all the years I've known him, I have honestly never seen him this genuinely happy. I myself have to wonder, what it is about this quirky girl that has so captivated him, reduced him to such a vulnerable state. Because it's quite clear the man is absolute putty in her hands. 

Not to say Freddie is her puppet, the way Brian seems to think- I don't know if Freddie could allow himself to be anybody's puppet anyhow- but there's no doubt he loves her. And completely, at that. The man's admitted as much. He even wrote her that new love song, the one that sort of branched off the Beatles's "Julia." 

Then what's the problem? What's still holding her hostage?

Suddenly my thoughts roll back to what Tim came close to saying. Freddie was right, it did indeed sound as though he said "the one who died." And I realize that she knows much, much more than any of us about our own lives. Perhaps she knows something about him- something that would push them apart instead of bringing them closer.

True, Freddie has a reputation. And I have no doubt it didn't help him in any way whatever when she discovered that he and Roger had had a running bet on who would go down on her first. But Freddie's trying, I can see that- and to me it only seems fair to give the man another chance. But maybe sometimes, the more you know, the less you see. And Julia apparently knows quite a lot. I can only speculate how blind that might potentially make her. She's so farsighted that she's near sighted. 

The doors close. Rudy moves around to the driver's side, gets in, starts the motor. And all of a sudden I am overtaken with a strange feeling of dread, and an urge to start shouting the thoughts now flying through my head. Namely:

_Julia, you stubborn thing, can't you see anything at all? He's trusting you with so much, more than I probably even know about- and you don't know whether you can trust him in return? He loves you, you know that- and if you do this, you'll break him! And there'll be nothing left of him for all the king's men to even consider reassembling. You love him, you say. And he loves you. Julia, my insecure, foolish friend, please don't do this to him- and don't do this to yourself!  
_

But I say none of these things. It's too late anyhow. The Rolls Royce heads down the wet pavement and turns at the corner a little way down our street, the words screaming mutely within my brain. We watch them vanish around the corner. I swallow.

"Something wrong, darling?" Veronica asks as we go back inside.

I shake my head telling her I'm all right. But I'm half-lying. Perhaps I myself might be all right. Nevertheless, I can't help feeling there is something wrong- just not with me. 

Perhaps another drop of gin will help me relax. As I walk back to the liquor cabinet, I look at the photo in my hands, the image of a smiling Freddie and Julia; naturally, she kept the picture of them passionately kissing. I can't help but notice how rare that smile is, the one Freddie wears. It takes up his whole face. I've never seen smiles reach all the way up into his eyes before. 

I flip the photo over, and see she's written something on the back. It's two queues of numbers, frantically scrawled in black ink:

**_12-9-2017  
214-555-7755_ **

And in even smaller handwriting, I see a brief message below them:

**_Don't forget.  
-J_ **

Good Lord. I'll be worrying all night.

 


	72. One More Night

We didn't spend much more time at the Deacons'.  It was getting late, and we didn't want to push the envelope too much, overstay our welcome.  What was more, I was fairly sure Freddie had drunk a little too much wine and vodka (it's so dangerous to mix one's alcohol), for he had started talking even more nonsensically than usual: making obscure references to some Japanese "ceremony," joking about going to Harrods and buying eleven children ("five mini-mes and six-mini-yous"), laughing heartily at pretty much anything anyone said.  Not that I particularly minded.  I much preferred him tipsily merry, as opposed to sober and mortified.  

I would, however, have liked to say more to John- I came so close to telling him what I was planning to do.  It would have been excellent practice in case I could actually summon up the courage to tell Freddie.  But instead, I had to resort to a brief (and in retrospect, rather confusing) note on the back of one of our pictures, which I gave John as I kissed him good night.  

As we pulled away, John seemed to follow us for a few paces, as though he too wanted to say something.  Nevertheless, his hands stayed down by his sides, his lips sealed.  I waved into the rear window, but we were turning the corner by that point, so he likely missed it.

One more night with Freddie remained- a night that in many ways would be the sweetest, and in countless others would go down as the most heartbreaking yet.  For as weak and emotional as I had become, I'd indeed made up my mind, chosen my path: I had chosen the Relic, the way out, just as I had in my magenta dream.  Life over love.  The hard part, however, would be sticking to it until noon tomorrow- which more than likely meant there would be no wild, intense love-making later _._

That was my initial plan, anyway.

Maybe, if I was lucky, the Relic might have already exhausted all its battery power before we came home.  Then I would be deprived- and yet, spared- making this choice, and I could resign myself to being stuck in the past, as I had before Freddie gave it back to me.  One option was much easier than two.  

_God, why did I have to be so stubborn?  If I had been wearing my tracker this morning, if I had been obedient, I wouldn't have to go through tonight.  But no!  I had to be Freddie about it.  And now I will probably have to tell him.  But how?  HOW?  
_

I had to let this go for the moment, if I was to make the most of my few precious hours left.  Besides, there was no way I could possibly break it to him before we got home- 

_Stop calling it home, stupid!_ I berated myself.  _That'll only make it worse!_

Unhappily I twiddled with the ring on my thumb, eyes on my lap.

"Darling, are you," Freddie gasped facetiously, "wearing _earrings_?"

_Up, mask._   

I smiled, hand rising to my ears.  "Rudy gave them to me.  Aren't they lovely?"

"I think they're Cartier stock," he said, peering closer.  "I've seen these before.  Yes, quite beautiful- a wonderful choice, dear!"

"Rudy has excellent taste," I agreed.  "Thank you again, Mr. Barnes!"

Rudy adjusted his rear view mirror so he could make eye contact with me, and winked.  He whistled innocently while keeping his eyes focused on the road. After a moment I realized he was whistling a much faster, bouncier version of a tune called "It Was Almost Like a Song."

I laughed.  "That isn't Ronnie Milsap you're whistling, is it?"

Rudy shrugged, clamming up.  "I, uh- perhaps."

"Where'd you hear that song?"

"Heard it a few times while we were knocking about in America- and it played earlier on your little device, so-"

"Who are we talking about?" Freddie asked, feeling out of the loop.

"Ronnie Milsap," I said.  "He's a singer."

"I gathered that, I'd just never heard of him before."

"Country artist."

"Oh.  I see."  Freddie sort of wrinkled his nose.  "Rudy, we need to talk."

Suddenly I had an idea.  "I like him, too!" I chirped enthusiastically.  "In fact, I feel like listening to him now, if nobody minds."

Freddie pretended to growl deep down in his throat, but he shrugged as well.  "All right, my little American rustic, go ahead."

"Rustic, eh?"  Arching my brow, I searched my playlist for a good one.  "Is Rudy an English rustic for liking him, my prince?"

Freddie's eyes gleamed.  "No, not a rustic.  He's just confused.  Hence, why we need to talk."  

"Freddie, I love you, but you're a snob.  Here we are, this one's the greatest," I announced.  I pressed the Play button.  Right before Freddie's very eyes I started swaying playfully to the music, and made a silly little duckface.  

"Well, you can walk out on me to-night/ If you think that it ain't feeling right," I mouthed along with Ronnie, "But darling,/ There ain't no getting over me."

I wasn't intentionally trying to annoy Freddie, I just wanted to subtly inform him that even taking into account all the things we did have in common, we were still so painfully different.  Perhaps by calling attention to that, I could wear off the luster of whatever shining quality he saw in me- remind him I really was just, as he himself had called me- a young, excessively analytical "American rustic"- and thereby soften the blow of my departure.

Casually I threw him a glance, wondering if I could read his expression for any annoyance.  But only his eyes were visible to me; the bottom half of his face was covered by the Android, which he held up in front of him.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Freddie shook his head.  "Nothing."

I stopped dancing around.  "Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you know I'm lying."

"So what are you doing?"

"Filming you."

I frowned.  "Hey, I never showed you how to do that!" 

Freddie smirked.  "I can learn things on my own, too.  Again, I'm not entirely dim."  He tapped the screen.  "Let's have a look, shall we?"

A few more quick swipes, and I watched with a slight flush in my cheeks as I demonstrated just how silly I can appear if I really put some effort into it.  

"You naughty thing," I exclaimed.  "That's exactly what they told me not to do, is take videos of anything."

"Who's they?"

"K and Company." 

"Darling, that's only an issue if you go back," Freddie sang.  All of a sudden his voice became serious, and he asked, " _Are_ you going back?"

Leave it to my prince to put me on the spot this way.  So I said evasively, "What makes you think I'd go back?"

He looked me over.  "I'm just making sure.  Earlier I wasn't-" he started to explain, when Rudy swerved to narrowly miss a pothole, sending us flying into the side door (for neither of us rebels were wearing seat belts).  I tumbled against Freddie's chest.

"Sorry," Rudy called.

Freddie shook his head.  "On the contrary," he said, setting the phone on the middle seat beside me and wrapping his arms around my middle so I couldn't sit back up.  "This is much cozier."  

With a smile, I rested my head on his shoulder.  "Indeed."  For a minute we were quiet, save for me mumbling the lyrics along with Ronnie: "You can tell everyone that we're through/ and you might even believe it, too-/ But darling, there ain't no getting over me./ Sweet darling, there ain't no getting over me-"

"Has this song come out yet, darling?" Freddie asked.

"No, not yet.  It will in a few years though."  I looked at him.  "Don't tell me you like it?"

"This isn't so bad, I admit," Freddie decided.  "I thought you were talking about those other, um-" He waved his hand around, as if grasping for the right words.  

"Like a Hank Williams type?"

"Right, uh- the ones with the cowboy hats, who spit all the time- and say 'dezarruss.'"

I rolled my eyes.  "You are never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?" 

"I tell you what.  You get past your little yen for Richard Dreyfuss-"

"What!  Get over that sexy beast?  Never!" I cried.

Freddie snorted, tried to keep a straight face and failed miserably.  "Richard Dreyf- wasn't he in that shark film, too?"

"You mean, _Jaws_?  Mm-hm, he played Hooper."

"Yeah, that.  The one who went into the cage.  Darling, I just don't understand, _what_ is the appeal?"

"What do you care?" I giggled.  "You're not jealous, are you?"

"If I said yes, would you answer me honestly?"

I shrugged.  "What I personally think it is... Dreyfuss kind of looks like my dad.  Lots of energy, kinda jumpy, and very sarcastic- like my father."

Freddie sighed in feigned defeat.  "Ah, well, I can't possibly compete with some, uh, reverse Oedipus complex-"

"It's called an Electra complex for girls," I corrected him.  

I was surprised to see he actually seemed interested.  "Oh?"

"And that's not even what I have, it's perfectly normal for girls to be attracted to guys just like their fathers- and guys tend to marry women that look and act like their mothers, so in small amounts, it's quite a natural phenomenon."

"I've never been attracted to any girl that looks like my moth-"  Freddie thought for a minute.  "Well, I guess she does kind of _act_ like Mum."

"Who?"

"Mary."

I wilted a little.  _Oh, yes, Mary.  Poor Mary._    "I'll go with that."

"But you don't act anything like her, you're very different."

I frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"You're- you're you, and, uh- the things I've seen you do, and heard you say- you're a completely different animal," he smiled.

"Well, I don't want to be your mother.  I want to be-"

"What?" He leaned closer.  "What do you want to be?"

But I only shrugged and smiled, keeping the answer unspoken as I sang the last lines.

"Oh, there you go again," he sighed.  "Playing coy right when things start sounding wonderfully scandalous."

To myself I finished the sentence, which would have fallen with a hollow, awkward thump onto the floorboards had I said it aloud.  My phone must have been stuck in a Ronnie Milsap rut, because the very next song it chose was "Any Day Now."  Before he could sing us another deceptively happy tune with sad breakup lyrics, I quietly turned off the music.  For the rest of the car ride I remained silent, in case the words still festering on my tongue should slip out when I wasn't looking.  

I can only imagine what you must be thinking of me right now.  But you have to understand.  Take into account all that's out there for anyone with the faintest curiosity to learn about this man.  He was wild and uncommitted- a slave to sensation.  I knew more than most people cared to know about him even before I crashed into his world.  I had forgotten none of it.  And still, despite the knowledge and the fear and the apparent futility of it all, I loved him.  I wasn't any less a Harley Quinn than I had been last night, after this beautiful, dark-eyed Joker conquered my body.  I loved him so much.

You want to know how much I loved Freddie?  Well, I'll tell you: enough to mean these six words with all my heart- and _almost_ have the courage (or was it foolishness?) to say them aloud:

"I want to be your wife."

He was eleven years my senior (actually, fifty-one years, or fifty-one and a quarter, if we were feeling anal-retentive), mildly bipolar with an almost crushingly dynamic personality, insatiable in his sexual appetites.  And here I was, mooning over how perfect life would be if I was married to him. _  
_

_In a completely perfect world, that is_ , I heard my own thoughts quickly add _. I know, I know, there's no way on God's green earth you'd even consider it_ _, Freddie.  Far be it from me to take that love you save for all of us and treat it like it was meant for me alone.  Even if it was, it would make so many people more miserable than happy, including you. Mary would kill herself, for one thing- and for another, there's too many guys like Joe and David around, plus the other numerous people just waiting in the wings-_

_STOP IT, ME!_ I screamed inside my head. _I know who he is, and what he'll be!  I GET IT!  But for God's sake, this is my last night with him!  Let it go!  Leave us in peace for once!  
_

At last we pulled up beside his flat.  Rudy hopped out of the driver's seat and started our way.  In spite of my inner turmoil (what a luxury is peace), I put my hand on Freddie's knee. "Thank you for a lovely birthday," I whispered.

He just smiled. "It's not over yet."

Before I reply, Rudy opened the door and let us out.  I didn't feel like putting my shoes back on, so I scooped them up in one hand and gripped my Android in the other, traipsing down the wet sidewalk after Freddie.  Rudy stood guard as Freddie unlocked the front door and saw us inside.

"Thanks again, Rudy, for the earrings- and all your help this evening," I said once we were indoors.  

He bowed slightly.  "It's my supreme pleasure."

"Oh, one thing, darling," Freddie said as he was turning to go.  

"Yes, Freddie?"

He took my hand and held on tight.  "Did you really go all the way to Bath and bring this one back?" 

Rudy shrugged, half-smiling.  "I suppose."

Freddie nodded.  "What do you think, Julia?  Is that deserving of a raise or what?"

"Oh, absolutely," I agreed.

Rudy looked astonished.  "I don't know what to say, sir-"

"My dear Mr. Barnes, don't say anything- least of all, 'sir'!"

"Right, right, sorry, sorry, sorry," he said.  "Is there anything else I can do for you two?"

"Yes- go home, get some rest," Freddie answered.

"And give the turtle some love," I joked.

Freddie turned to me.  "Turtle?"

"He hasn't told you about Clarence?"  

"Clarence the turtle?"  Freddie's mouth split into a that's so-cute grin.  

"Thanks, Julia," Rudy muttered.

I looked at the big man, now grinding his teeth in embarrassment.  "Oh- I'm sorry, was that a secret or something?"

"I think I'll step out now, if you've any other beans left to spill, I'd rather not be here to spectate," he sighed.  As Rudy turned away, very faintly, I heard him sing the song I'd turned off, "Any day now/ I will hear you say/ 'Good-bye, my love'-"

I squinted.  _Wait a minute.  That was another eighties song._ "Hey, Rudy, how do you know the words to that?"

Freddie's driver blinked.  "I heard that thing play it once."

"When?  I didn't hear it tonight."

"Well, it played sometime," Rudy murmured briskly, drawing the door closed.  "Good night!"

And he disappeared, leaving Freddie, the cats, and myself alone in the flat.  I went upstairs then, presumably to put my shoes away.  But after throwing the wedges into the floor of the green bedroom's closet, I rushed to the nightstand, where my Relic lay face down.  _Please, please, let it already be out of power.  Spare me this choice, dear Lord, it's killing me already._

But when I pressed a random button, my heart sank.  The monochrome screen faintly lit up and showed me how pitifully close to death the Relic had drawn.  But it was still operational, still perfectly capable of ripping me out of this world and bringing me home in the way of one last call.  

"Darling, what is this?" Freddie called from below.

I cleared my throat.  "Uh- what's what?"

"This parcel with the red ribbon wrapped around it."

"Oh," I laughed nervously.  "That's for you."  _Good grief, I almost forgot about Yin and Yang!_

Freddie sounded surprised.  "Me?  But it's not my birthday!"

"It's just a little something," I downplayed.  "And I do mean little."

I hurried back downstairs, my cheeks flushing.  However fitting I had thought the jade carving had been this afternoon, it seemed much more paltry now against the memory of every outlandish gift Freddie had given me.  What touch of pride I'd felt in buying it earlier was fully replaced by embarrassment.  Those glittering bijoux cast such brilliant glares in which everything else appeared frightfully shabby.

Freddie was shaking his head when I reached the bottom.  "What's this for, dear?"

"Just because," I said shyly.  "First off, though, there's a box of Godiva in the kitchen as well, so if you want to break into that later-"

"Ooo."  So cooing, he glided into the kitchen and came back out with the candy box in his hands.  Opening the box, he popped a chocolate into his mouth.  "Hey, these are those dark chocolate cherry things- my favorites.  How did you know?"

"Lucky guess, I suppose."  _Information courtesy of Minsy, actually._ "I'm glad you like them- and the other thing you can open at your leisure, you don't have to open it now-"

"But I want to!  Come on, let's sit down over here and we'll see just how far overboard you went."  

"Look who's talking," I smiled.  "But it's really not all that big a deal, I just wanted to do something for you."

"Julia, really," Freddie purred, "you didn't have to do anything-"

"Well, you don't have to, either, but you do it anyway," I interrupted, nerves making my voice a little edgier than intended.  "I figure what's good for the gander is good for the goose."

Rolling his eyes, Freddie offered me a candy, saying he thought I "could use one," but I shook my head.  So we sat down on the sofa beside Tom, who stood and rubbed his head against Freddie's elbow.  The package containing Yin and Yang rested in his lap- a gift that seemed more and more paltry by the second.  But it was too late to take it back.    
  
Setting the candies on the coffee table, Freddie untied the ribbon and tore away the paper.    
  
I couldn't help myself.  In a low voice I began, "Again, it's not very much, I just-"  
  
"Angel."  Freddie laid his finger against my lips and made me look into his eyes. "Relax."  
  
With that, he lifted the box's lid, brushed back the tissue papers inside.  Eagerly he unwrapped the wood stand, which he set on the table.  Then he reached in and removed the wrappers from the jade cats. I was too embarrassed to watch; I kept my eyes focused on my lap.  
  
Finally the rustling stopped; he was holding them in his palms.  After a moment, I heard him whisper, "Julia..."  
  
"They're, uh, they're jade, apparently nineteenth century Chinese carving," I rambled apprehensively.  "Saw them in this little Asian antique shop and I- I thought of you, because you like that kind of Oriental, so-"  
  
"Darling, they're beautiful," he murmured.    
  
"You're very kind.  I know they're not Cartier, and they're not Japanese, but they're yours to do with as you like-"  
  
"Julia, stop it."  His voice, though still warm, was firm.  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Stop belittling yourself, my God- and stop acting like this isn't a nice gift."  
  
"Well, I know you're used to-"  
  
"F--- what I'm used to.  You know something?  You are the definition of what I am not used to.  All right?  And you, and the things you do- couldn't make me happier.  That goes for this also.  Julia, my dear, please stop worrying about what I'm used to, and, you know, just do what you do."  He smiled.  "Can you do that for me?"  
  
I looked up at him and nodded.  "I guess so."  
  
"Good," he sighed, then wrapped me in a hug.  Quietly I pressed my lips to his cheek.  It felt so safe in his arms, everything about him, from the scent of licorice to the feel of his chest as it gently rose and fell with every breath, filling my senses. I set all of it down into permanent memory, so that no matter what should happen, I would never lose what it felt like to be this close to him.   
  
After a moment Freddie slowly pulled away.  He looked down at the cats again, tracing the engraved symbols with his finger.  "Perfect balance- Yin and Yang," he murmured, touching each cat's back, respectively.  "Is that you, and that's me?"  
  
"Are we?" I asked.    
  
"I mean, I think so," he mused.  "See, look here.  The black cat's eyes are bigger, so that one would have to be you."  
  
"And I just assumed the Yang cat is you because of the butterfly on its shoulder," I explained.  "And he's got that little smug smirk-"  
  
"Oh, f--- off."  
  
"It's true, look!"  I pointed at the white cat's mouth.  "He looks like he's just swallowed the canary."  
  
Freddie shook his head, grinning- but he didn't dispute my words.  "Either way, it's a good likeness- and you're one of the few people I've ever met who _gives_ gifts on their birthday.  Silly thing."  
  


"Well, anyway, I hope you like them, and-"

He kissed me ungracefully on the lips, making a big "mm-wah" sound when he pulled away.  "Darling, I love them, I'm going to put them in a place where all the world can see and say, 'Look what my sweet kitten gave to me on her birthday, I'm the luckiest man in the world,' and watch them go green with envy.  

"Now!" Freddie announced, clapping his hands energetically.  "Time for your present!"

"My present?  But this dress-"

"Was meant for Las Vegas but it didn't quite work out as I'd first planned, so that doesn't count.  Come along!"

With that, he hopped off the sofa and strode toward the piano.  I was confused, but I followed him nonetheless.  Freddie fitted the cats onto the stand and set them on top of the big black grand, facing us.  He patted the space on the bench beside him, where I obediently perched a moment later.  
  
"Right," Freddie began, cracking his knuckles.  "You've probably heard me playing bits of this over the past weeks, but I finally finished it today.  All that's left is the lyrics- and that's going to take a little more time."  
  
"I'd like to help," I offered carefully, "should the need arise."  
  
Freddie shook his head.  "I know you would- and could, but- if the words didn't come exclusively from me, came partly from you, the meaning of the song would sort of be lost, you know what I mean?"  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"Because," Freddie coughed, "as far as this song is concerned, the words should be inspired by the same thing as the music.  And so they will be."  
  
I watched the playful impishness vanish as he hunched a little over the keys.  Down fell those hands, the long fingers outstretched.  In seconds the flat rang with escalating music as he warmed up with a quick chromatic scale.  The notes hung suspended in the air for a little while until Freddie took his foot off the pedal.  And he looked at me.  My heart beat in double time, my lips dry.Oh, those eyes.  
  
"This is for you," was all he said.    
  
Then he turned back to the ivories, and played his song.

I watched him in silence.  My cheeks burned, my body numbed.  True, he sang no words, unless "dah de dahs" counted as words.  But I knew exactly what song he was playing.  I'd know it anywhere.  I wasn't even surprised to hear him play this instrumental piece, as he'd been working on it ever since my arrival.  
  
Freddie was playing the completed piano instrumental of what would come to be known as "Jealousy", from the album _Jazz_.  It was a song I'd always thought of as Freddie's last real love ballad- the last of his songs to fit in the same gentle, lovelorn category as "Love of My Life," "You Take My Breath Away," and "Lily of the Valley."  Of course, he wrote other love-centered songs, but none of those which followed "Jealousy" possessed that same sweetness, that vulnerability.  There was always some impenetrable barrier, as though he'd traded a mask of plaster for a mask of iron- and invariably, I could hear a particular emptiness in his voice. 

I had always loved this final, sincere lament for love lost to suspicion and doubt.  And I was just as enchanted as ever before, by the cascading music and Freddie's swift, large hands.  But my thoughts were only superficially bathed in this beauty.  All I could really think about was what he had said at the start.

He wrote "Jealousy" for me?  _  
_

_But that's not possible, he must have already had a piece of the song in his head before I came along..._

Granted, a thing or two sounded different.  For example, he ended the song differently from what I remembered; to my surprise, "Jealousy" ended on a resolved major chord as opposed to the open-ended minor finish from the record.  I kept my mouth shut about that, however, and waited to be addressed.

He folded his hands in his lap once he finished.  His head turned towards me, but his eyes were trained on the bench.  

"I, um- hope you like it," Freddie whispered.

"It's beautiful," I breathed.  "What's- what's the name?"

"I don't know yet," he said.  "So far, I'm just calling it the Julia song."

"'The Julia Song?"

"Right, because in the chorus here, in my head I keep hearing 'Ju-li-a, look at me now, Ju-li-a, you got me somehow, dah dee dee dee dee....' so things like that."  He shrugged, a little awkward smile on his lips.

I swallowed, unable to clear my throat of the lump inside it.  "You wrote that- for me?"

Freddie nodded.  "It's all right?"  
  
I bit my lip and chuckled softly.  "All right," I repeated.  "Freddie, it's wonderful, I... I can't even describe it.  It's perfect."  
  
He peered into my face, tucked one of the loose wisps behind my ear.  Two fingers lifted my chin so that my face was tilted to look at him. But I couldn't meet his eyes.    
  
Freddie began, "Julia-"

"One second, Freddie," I gasped, taking his hand off my face.  "I need a minute."

"Well, which is it?" he teased gently.  "One second, or sixty?"

I didn't answer him, instead hopping off the bench and running upstairs.  I needed to breathe.  Quickly I ran into Freddie's bedroom and threw open the terrace door.  The air was still muggy and warm from the rain, but I didn't care; I walked out onto the balcony and stared out into the night.    
  
Not too many seconds passed before I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.  _Most people would take somebody suddenly running up the staircase and into a dark, empty bedroom as a sign that he or she wanted to be alone.  And yet, he approaches._  
  
But Freddie had it right.  I didn't want to be alone.  That's why I waited for him to join me.

 


	73. Promise Me

After a moment, Freddie's slim shape appeared beside me. I greeted him with a small smile, then stared back out into space. He did the same, giving me a glance or two every now and then to break up the monotony. No one spoke for a little while.

At last, Freddie ventured, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," I lied. "I just need to sort of- decompress, if that's even the right word."

"So you came up to the terrace?"

"Hey, I do my best decompressing on terraces," I replied.

Freddie thought a moment, then took a step back. "Should I go?"

I shook my head, sighing through my nose. "No, I'm really fine, I just- I'm a little overwhelmed, is all."

He came closer again. "Go on."

"Well, no one's ever written a song for me before," I whispered. "And such a beautiful one at that."

He half-smiled. "If it's beautiful at all, it's because the girl who inspired it is beautiful."

My cheeks burned, and a familiar tightness crept up my throat. I kept my eyes focused on the one constellation I could recognize in the sky- the Big Dipper- and I smiled a quiet thank-you. _My prince, do you want me to cry?_

Freddie shrugged bashfully, continuing, "But I will warn you, the way I write lyrics, it's, uh, likely going to lose some of its magnificence as soon as I put words to the thing."

I shook my head. "The words are only going to make it more beautiful. You just wait and see. It's one of my fav-" I cut myself off, but not fast enough.

He frowned, then asked, "Wait- you've heard it before?"

I swallowed. "Well, um, I-"

"Oh, f---, how could I forget," he sighed, rubbing his face. "You're from the f---ing future, you know everything. You probably already even know what it's called."

"Well..."

"What's it called?"

"I can't tell you that! It'll spoil it for you."

He blinked. "I don't actually call it 'The Julia Song,' do I?"

"Oh, no, of course not. John Lennon would be all over you for that."

"That he would." Then he said thoughtfully, "Then again, you know, just because John Lennon can write a song and call it 'Julia,' doesn't mean I can't. Perhaps I will after all."

"Freddie, you shouldn't name me in your song anyway."

"Why not?" He slouched forward a little. "Would you be embarrassed?"

"Of course not."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You've written songs for other people, about other people, and you don't name them. You didn't do that with anyone else. Not even for those guys, the Sheffield-"

"Those m-----f-----s," he hissed.

"Yeah, see? You hate those guys, quite rightly [this I added to again assure him I was on his side; while on the plane home from Vegas, Freddie had told me the band's Trident Productions horror story, and I made the near-fatal mistake of remarking "Freddie, it couldn't have been that bad..."], and you didn't call them out!"

"They know who they are, I didn't have to. But I mean, I've been at this game for long enough, maybe the time has come for a change," he winked.

"Oh, heavens..."

"Darling, don't worry so much. I won't, I probably won't call it by your name anyway- although it does fit rather well, I think. Ju-li-a. We'll see."

To myself I was rationalizing, trying to get myself back into old habits, _Freddie must have had this in his head before I ever entered the picture; I must have just sped things up as far as song development is concerned. But he cannot call that song "Julia." He just can't. As sweet as that would be, he can't._

Then Freddie gave me an out. "Of course, that's all assuming I even planned to use it for the album-"

"I wish you wouldn't," I blurted, not realizing how that might sound.

He looked stunned. "What does that mean?"

"It means, I'd rather keep that song just between ourselves, if 'Julia' is indeed what you're going to call it."

"But darling, if you recognize it, that means it is going to be on a record someday, right?"

"Not necessarily," I dodged. "Is that the only other song you've written, besides 'Champions' and 'Melancholy Blues'?"

"No, there's another one, still rather fresh in my mind. Completely different from your song. Just sort of came to me this afternoon, I was fooling around on the piano and suddenly I thought of this sort of driving, pounding, very sexual kind of- what's that look for?"

"What look?"

"You've just got this little grin on your face now as soon as I started talking about the other-"

"It's nothing, I simply wasn't, uh, surprised when I heard the description."

"What can I say? Sex sells. Trust me."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, Lord..."

He smirked, as we now moved out of this dreamy, romantic mood into another bicker session. "I can't help it, darling. I tell you, it's not easy being such a devastatingly handsome sex god."

"Easy enough to puff your chest out about it, though," I remarked.

"Well, I mean, over time, you just get to the point where you have to sort of embrace your lot in life, and I guess that's mine, so- I might as well face it, right?"

I rested my chin wearily in my hand. "It's times like these I wish I smoked."

"Why?"

"Because then I wouldn't have to think of some biting comeback; I could just take an exasperated drag off my fag and blow the smoke right into that elegant nose of yours."

His brow arched. "Run out of lines already, eh?"

"How's this one: shut up."

"Oooooo.... I'm crushed. How will I ever recover from such a _lethal_ blow."

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be paying you back in the near future."

His eyes widened suggestively. "Is that a promise, my little wildcat?"

I sighed, lowered my head, and burst out laughing. Freddie joined me, filling the air with that devilish giggle of his. As vinegary as our conversation could become, I loved these harmless little spats. Then my spirits deflated, as with a touch of sadness I realized just how horribly I would miss them, if I followed through tonight.

Suddenly he leaned in and nuzzled my cheek, closing his right hand over my left. "You know, I must really love you," he whispered.

"How do you know?" I said quietly _._

"Because I don't know of anyone else I can squabble with- and see it as some sort of love talk, but that's basically what it is, what we do. It's like- I mean, sometimes it feels like- it's just natural. And it's kind of fun at that."

"Everything you're a part of is fun," I told him. "Even when things don't go quite as expected, it's always such an adventure."

"Some people wouldn't see it that way," Freddie murmured.

"Well, I do." I looked down at the big hand hiding my own. I smiled, adding, "You have the most wonderful hands."

"So I'm told," he said slyly.

I covered my eyes and groaned, "Aw, man..."

With another naughty laugh, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Darling, I do have to hand it to you, I must be a real- um, piece of work, shall we say, compared to what you must have come from."

"You are," I nodded. "But I love you, too."

He thought a moment and asked, "Did you love me even before all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you, um- in the time you spent, I suppose- stalking me, when you were younger- were you in love with me then?"

"No," I replied.

"Rather fast with that answer, weren't you?" he said sharply.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "But I wasn't. I'm being perfectly honest."

" _Brutally_ honest, more like," he pouted.

"Would you rather I lie?"

"About that? It might have been nice."

"Well, I didn't- but only because I didn't know you. Is it possible to truly love someone you don't know? You can be infatuated, curious, obsessive, but you can't really care for someone you haven't met, can you?"

"Yes, yes, I do understand, just- At least let me down a little easier next time, hm?" He squeezed my hand gently, pressing my ring finger's tender spot. On reflex I squealed in pain.

Freddie jerked away, startled. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, I'm okay-"

"That's bollocks. What's wrong with your hand?"

"I just sprained my finger a little while ago, nothing major," I said, rubbing the smarting area.

But Freddie pressed, "How did you do that?"

"I just hit it against something too hard, I don't really want to talk about it- but it's much better now than it was."

He opened his mouth, about to ask perhaps what I had hit, when the look in his eyes changed. After a moment, he pushed off the railing and walked back inside without a word.

"Freddie?" I called after him, but he kept going. I watched in mounting confusion as his shoulders hunched over and arms folded, and Freddie disappeared out the bedroom door. A couple of minutes ticked by, then a couple more. But gone he stayed.

Shutting the balcony door, I crept downstairs to look for him. But the piano bench was unoccupied, the kitchen was empty, and all the cats but one -Tiffany, who had made herself a little burrow in the clean laundry basket- were on the sofa with no long fingers rubbing them affectionately under their little chins.

"Which way did he go, Oscar?" I asked my favorite.

"I'm right here," Freddie's voice drifted down from above. I turned to see him descend from the top floor, hand barely touching the banister.

"What are- I thought you came down here, not-"

"No, I just went into the spare room a moment," he replied.

"What for?"

He shrugged, not even looking at me as he passed. "Like you said, to decompress."

It seemed that all the earlier happiness he was showing had been drained out of him. _Now what?_ I asked myself. _Good grief. He should have come with a user's manual, or at least a tech support hotline._

"I'm, uh, pouring myself a drink," he said over his shoulder. "Would you like anything?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"An honest answer to the question, 'Did I miss something back there?'"

He turned and finally made eye contact with me. "No. Unless I missed something even earlier, as far as you're concerned."

I shook my head. "No."

We stood there a second, Freddie with his bottle of vodka and me with my orange tabby. And I kid you not, we blurted this at each other in almost perfect unison, " _So what's the matter with you?_ "

"I told you, I was emotionally overcome," I protested. "I just couldn't believe you wrote me that-"

"F--- that. Darling, it didn't just start with the song, you've been acting like someone strung you too tight since before we left John's house. There's something you're keeping from me-"

"Of course not!"

"Yes you are- but I think I know what it is."

I balked. "You do?" I exclaimed without thinking, and therefore gave myself away.

"Mm," he nodded. "It's about me, isn't it?"

"Well," I mused, "I suppose it has to do with you."

He nodded again, pouring vodka over his glass of ice. "Let me guess-"

"No, hold on. If we're going to tell each other secrets, let alone guess at them, we're not doing it this far apart and standing up. Come over here by me." I patted the sofa cushion.

Freddie did as I ordered, absently sitting down on my skirt. I watched him while my heart beat loudly in my head. _What does he think he knows? What did C and K tell John- and what did John tell Freddie? Maybe he knows I'm planning to leave. Maybe I don't have to tell him, maybe he already knows! Is that it?_

He sipped his cocktail and asked, leaving me no time to think up a generic, evasive fallback, "So tell me, dear: where you came from, was I dead?"

_POW!_

That single question knocked the wind right out of me. His words were cower-worthy all by themselves- but their tone! God, he was so casual, as if he'd already come to terms with the reply no matter what it would be.

"W-what brought this on?" I whispered.

"A hunch," he replied. "Something one of your Relic friends said."

"My Relic friends? You spoke to them too?" I went pale.

"Dear, please don't change the subject."

"But Freddie, that's such a macabre question-"

"I know, I know, but still I need to ask, or else it'll drive me mad with wondering: in your old world, did I make it to seventy? And no beating about the bush, please. Brutal honesty."

After what seemed like forever, I shook my head. "No, where I came from, you- didn't make seventy years old."

"Right!" he nodded. "That's what I thought, really. Seventy is too long anyway. I've no desire whatsoever to grow that old. I'd be so bored."

Hearing my prince speak this way curdled my blood; I could barely keep my voice at a normal level. "Freddie, don't you dare ask any more about it."

"I won't. I'm satisfied."

"No more questions, because I swear I won't answer them. Not how, not when-"

"I don't want to know those things, Julia. That, I prefer to keep a surprise," he dismissed. "Oh, darling, don't dwell on it, I only brought it up to clear both our consciences, especially yours, since it's obviously been plaguing you- but see, now I've spared you the headache, and we can move along, right?"

"Oh, Freddie, how can you be so cool about it?" I exclaimed. "It's your life! How the hell can you think of yourself like that?"

"I've always felt like that, ever since boarding school. If I die tomorrow, I couldn't care less. Julia, you look so horrified. What for? We'd both be much better off if I just dropped dead. You know it."

It was a moment before I could whisper in a shaky voice, "Why are you saying these things to me?"

"Because they're true."

"Would you say this to Mary?" I demanded abruptly.

"What?"

"Mary! Would you talk this way to her? Would you just point blank tell her things like 'I wish I were never born' and, and 'I don't care if I die'? Would you?"

"I don't- know-"

"Or Minsy? Do you say those things to him?" I felt myself getting wound up. "Or Liza? Or Paul? Or whoever else?"

"What do they have to do with it?"

"Because they do. Remember, Freddie, I know more than too much. So, tell me, what is it? Do you talk that way to them? Why are you making me listen to it- me, someone you met two weeks ago under stupid circumstances?"

Freddie paused. "Because I know I am much more trouble than I am worth- and you deserve better than me."

"What?"

"I have no right to- to feel like this when I've given every reason in the world to expect otherwise."

"To feel like what?"

"Like I want to keep you."

My heart ached at his words. "How can you say that? All the things you've done for me-"

"Yes, but that thing, that f---ing phone Relic whatever-it-is- is in there, and- when I think about the way I acted that night- that's how you sprained your finger, wasn't it? When you hit me?"

"Yes it was," I conceded. _So that's what made him walk away like that._

"And yet you came back. I still don't know why."

"Because I loved you."

"You said it was honor."

"That was me unwilling to accept that I loved you- and I was still pretty mad at that time anyway."

Freddie shook his head. "Still, I never should have treated you that way, no matter what Paul said."

"Freddie, I have forgiven you already for- _what_?"

"Hm?"

"You said something about Paul."

"Yes, I met Paul at a bar around where he lives right before I came home that night."

"You met Paul first," I repeated, all the pieces of the puzzle now slowly coming together in my head. "Did you tell him what I wrote?"

"Honestly, I don't remember- I think I might have said something about you thinking I was a monster, because he said, um- he said, 'Prove her right, she wants you to, so prove her right.'" Freddie shook his head. "I was rather angry still, and I'd had a lot to drink, so I suppose I took his words to the extreme."

_I might have known!_ I shouted inwardly. So that was it! Paul egged him on! _My God, Freddie, don't you see how easily he can manipulate you? He waits till you're mildly incapacitated, then he strikes!_

"But, anyway, I guess I did prove you right," he sighed. "I-"

"Freddie, I was wrong," I cut him off. Now an idea was brewing in my head. Quickly I darted upstairs for my journal and a black pen, then came back down the stairs, writing furiously.

"Julia, you're the one who knows how this is all going to end up," Freddie pointed out. "All you can be is right."

"Remember when you said that a little change would do this world some good?" I said, nose buried in the book. "Maybe I've been wrong about everything from Day One because that future crumbled as soon as I arrived here."

"But you don't know for certain?"

"No. But it could very well be like this-"

"Darling, if this is about to get technical, please don't bother, because I'm not going to understand half of it."

"It's really short. Maybe, the way it works is, that future has already changed, but my little jaunt here in yesteryear hasn't affected the development of time travel technology, so they haven't really been affected by it. Time may have changed around them and they don't even know it. So the new future is the only future they remember. For them, nothing's changed.

"There's a second thought too, although it's much more Zemeckis than reality: that the future's changes are pending."

"Pending?"

"Waiting on the link between this new past and the old future to be broken."

Freddie snapped his fingers. "The Relic."

"Right! When it dies, and all the juice in the Relic has been drained, that breaks the chain, destroying the old future to make way for a brand new future. But that's the less likely option, as that defies all the laws of physics and Einstein and everything. Besides, the Relic's already been broken once, so-"

"But doesn't the, um, whole concept of time travel sort of bend the rules all by itself too?"

"Maybe- unless there's other rules we have yet to discover that annihilate the original laws of physics. Maybe Isaac Newton was wrong- and maybe Einstein was high."

Freddie squinted. "So, um, what does that mean for us?"

"That means, assuming Option A is true, we do not have to be governed by the old future! Perhaps you do make it to seventy this time!"

"No need; I'm quite content to cap it at sixty-nine."

I shook my head, smiling. "All right. Here's the contract."

Freddie held up his hands in defense. "Contract? Oh, no. I sign no contracts unless Deacy's given them a good looking-through first."

"Oh, don't be cute. Read it and sign if the terms and conditions are reasonable."

"Right," he muttered, and read my sloppy handwriting aloud:

**_The Great Compromise of 1977_ **

_**I, the Party of the First Part, a.k.a. Freddie Mercury, do so agree to, while enjoying myself more than should be humanly acceptable in Life, acknowledge and practice three resolutions:** _

**_a) to keep my wits about me, as after all, ooh, baby, baby, it's a wild world_** (Freddie rolled his eyes, and whispered, "You couldn't help yourself, could you?")

_**b) to not indulge in such a lifestyle as would place my own health at high risk** _

_**c) to be wary of my relations with Paul Prenter, and to make sure they do not exceed most others in value and/or importance** _

Underneath this text was an attempt at a straight line where I had prompted him to put his signature.

"What do you think?" I asked.

Freddie read it silently to himself again, brows furrowed in concentration. "Not bad," he murmured. "Can the Party of the First Part make any alterations to the contract?"

"Go ahead," I replied.

"Good." Shooting me a little saucy glance, Freddie took the pen and wrote down an additional paragraph.

"What are you putting?"

"You've seen _A Night At the Opera_ , haven't you?" Freddie asked.

"At least thirty times."

"Well," he smiled, "this is the Sanity Clause." (For those who don't get the reference, or else just want a really good laugh, watch the movie.)With a flourish, Freddie punched a period at the end and handed me my journal. "Voila!"

"Sanity Clause, huh?" I said. Once I finished reading, however, my hands shook:

_**To all of the above I, the undersigned, do willingly and fabulously consent, but solely on the condition that the Party of the Second Part, a.k.a. Julia Samuels, supervises my everyday goings-on and personally ensures that all of the aforementioned resolutions are honored without fail- her agreement to which being demonstrated via signature on this selfsame contract.** _

_**In other words: I promise if you promise, honey.** _

My jaw dropped. Oh, that rotter, Freddie. How deftly he could twist a plan around and make it into a tool for his express use. Crazy like a fox, he was- to catch me in my own snares!

"You understand the legal-speak?" Freddie asked.

"Of course I do," I whispered. "My dad's a defense attorney."

"Then what's that look of awe?"

"I just never really thought of you writing like this."

Freddie lifted his chin. "My own father was a clerk to the Zanzibar Court a long time ago-"

I looked up. "Oh, was he?"

"Mm. And anyway, I've pored over enough record contracts and things over the years; something was bound to stick."

For a moment we stood there staring at each other, waiting for the other person to make the first move.

"What are you waiting for?" Freddie coaxed. "I have to sign that silly annulment anyway. You sign that while I'm signing this," he pointed at the Vegas annulment papers, "And then I'll sign my portion of that contract. Fair?"

I smiled, but deep down my stomach churned. For I found this far from fair. I was trapped. To tell, or not to tell. To sign, or not to sign.

_I could just refuse to sign this and tell him what I'm planning to do. But if I do that, he'll kill me, physically if not verbally. But I can sign this contract, let him believe I'm staying, and then if I leave- that is,_ when _I leave, I can avoid his brief explosion and any other raging havoc he might choose to wreak._

I snuck a peek at Freddie, who had his back turned toward me as he bent over the annulment papers. Already I was challenging my own resolve. What kind of hardhearted witch was I? How dare I think so coolly about this! This wasn't just some little inside joke; I would be giving him my word! What would this do to him?

But Dr. C of the new future had said that nothing changed- that Freddie and I would not be together long enough to be considered a couple. But he could have been lying, couldn't he? That was just as likely as that he was telling me the truth. It wouldn't be the first time a lie was told in the name of science.

"Darling, you still haven't signed," he goaded. "What's taking you so long? Chop-chop!"

On the other hand, Freddie himself didn't seem to be taking this very seriously. Why did I have to make such a big thing of this when it actually didn't deserve it?

But promises were important to me, no matter what they meant to anyone else. So I took a deep breath.

"Freddie, I have to ask this," I said.

My prince cocked his head and waited.

"What will the others think?"

"Who? The band?"

"No. The other others."

Freddie blinked. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Because- look. I don't want to... um..." The words clung to my tongue, but somehow I still managed to force them out. "I don't want you, or them, or her, to think that I mean to replace anyone-"

"Her?" Freddie sighed. "Julia, why do you worry so much about Mary? That's who you meant, isn't it?"

"Because I do," I said vaguely. "And I know she means a lot to you- I don't want her to think that I'm..."

"You're what?" he asked. "Taking her place?"

"Mm-hm."

Freddie looked me straight in the eyes. "Darling, I'm only going to say this once, and I hope I never have to say it again: you can't replace Mary. Nobody can, not even if they tried. It's simply impossible."

I tried not to let him see how much that stung. "Exactly! And I'm glad that you're as forthcoming about that as you are-"

"I wasn't finished." He cupped his hand over my mouth.

"You weren't?" I said, voice muffled.

"Before you jumped to conclusions, I was going to say that while it's true no one can replace Mary, and the impact she's had in my life, it's just as true that no one anywhere, including Mary, could ever replace you, and everything you mean to me."

I sat there a moment, the pen feeling a little heavier in my hand.

"Do you know what I'm trying to say?" he whispered.

I bobbed my head up and down, peeling his hand off my face. "But I mean, I don't see how anybody you know would want to be a stray kitten in the first place."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "My dear, I think you've missed the point-"

"But listen, I think you ought to know that I'm more than just some feral feline, Freddie," I warned him suddenly, half tongue-in-cheek. "I also- don't worship Jimi Hendrix."

He clutched at his heart, eyes bugging. "You don't?"

"Uh-uh. I like some of his stuff, but for the most part I really don't get the appeal."

Freddie's brows knit. "Hm."

"I know. But it gets worse."

"Worse than not liking Jimi Hendrix?"

"Oh, yes. See, I also don't get ballet- I like opera, but not ballet-"

"Oh, dear."

"And- also I think Liza Minnelli is just a bit overrated, and- I have a soft spot for the Clash." I lowered my head. 

"Darling, are you telling me," Freddie murmured slowly after a moment, "that there are some things I like that you don't like, and there are things you enjoy that I'm not too terribly keen on?"

"Freddie, I only want you to be completely informed. I burn for you, burn like crazy for you- my God, if you had any idea how madly in love with you I am I think it would scare you to death. But full disclosure: I am also an analytical, Christian, old-fashioned millenial from Dallas, Texas who voted for Donald Trump- and even worse, I would do it again if I had the chance."

Freddie simply looked at me. "So, in other words," he whispered, taking my hands, "you're perfect."

Swallowing, I asked, not as facetious as I was before, "Who- _are_ you?"

"Two weeks, almost," he sighed. "Plus however long you spent following me before that- and you still don't believe in me."

"It's not that I don't believe in you, I just- I'm-"

He put his arm around my shoulders. "Are you scared?"

Biting my lip, I nodded. About that much, I could be honest.

"Don't worry, you're not the only one," he murmured. "The way I feel right now- it frightens me just as much as it must frighten you, because I never felt like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like I- like I belong somewhere. Like I'm really, truly not alone in the world. God. I hate being alone."

I smiled like the naive idiot I am. "But you're not alone."

It was with those words that I took pen in hand, signed the makeshift contract. 

_Oops._

My throat went dry as I suddenly realized what I'd done. I'd signed the contract. I had promised to stay. _Whoa ,whoa, whoa, wait! Stop! Help! I've been tricked!_

But it was too late to take anything back now.

For with wide eyes I watched Freddie take the pen next, write his own name just above mine. And then, a sweet smile spread across his face- and my heart split in two.

"No," he whispered at last. "Not anymore."

_OH, MY DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I D-_

I would have finished the thought, but then Freddie reached up and began taking the pins out of my hair. I closed my eyes as it fell softly against my neck, until my refined, demure updo was completely undone. He let his fingers gently play in the sandy brown locks, as he too closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine.

I swallowed, struggling to regain composure. There was something I had to tell him.

"Freddie-"

But when he, the most gorgeous man to ever walk this Earth, looked at me, I hushed. A new light filled his dark eyes- a light I had never seen in them before. There was something peaceful about it- almost childlike, if you will. But somehow, I knew what it meant. With a crushing mixture of enchantment and guilt, I realized its name.

Freddie was happy.

His soft, full lips were close enough to touch mine- but kiss me he did not.

Instead, he whispered, "Shall we dance?"

I was so lost in his eyes, I couldn't even speak. All I did was slowly nod my head.


	74. Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains mature content. Viewer discretion advised.

Letting go of my hands, Freddie walked toward the turntable, temporarily breaking the spell. He browsed his record collection, muttering the artist names under his breath. "Let's see, um... Aretha Franklin? Not tonight. Jimi Hendrix? Can't really dance to that, and you don't like him anyway-"

I blinked, tried to recapture my senses. "Freddie, he's fine, I just don't think he's the be-all and end-all."

He waved his hand at me, going on, "Uh, the Stones, Joni Mitchell, more Aretha- _Il Trovatore_ \- darling, help me out here-"

"How about Al Stewart?"

"Not sure if I have any Al St- hey, where did this come from?" Freddie drew out an Al Stewart record, looking at me quizzically.

"Oh, I bought that at the record store a couple of days ago," I said offhandedly. "It's a good album- especially the last song."

" _Year of the Cat_. Hmm. I've heard that before, but I don't remember how it goes. Is it dance-able?"

"Very."

"Mm. Oh, why not. The title's good enough for me."

So Freddie placed the vinyl on his turntable and moved the needle to the very last track.

The music softly played through the turntable speakers- and in one smooth motion, Freddie seized me in his arms and started swaying us playfully around the parlor.

There was minimal space between our bodies as we danced through the dining room, into the kitchen, back to the parlor. I had only danced with him like this three times before: the Mercurena, the brief dance we shared on the floor of the Heatwave, and that sweet daydream on the bridge in Central Park. And now, this, one last gentle rock in his arms.

The thought gave me pause. Was this our last dance? Did I dare leave this man behind me, when I'd promised to stay? Even if I hadn't given my word, Freddie's generosity alone should have been enough to make me reconsider.

We passed the piano, and my eyes alighted on Yin and Yang. It was true after all, wasn't it; my personal feelings aside, I did feel as if I belonged with him, somehow. _Then again, the reason for that may be as simple as, I love him, and to add on to that, I've slept with him, so now we have this consummate connection. Good grief. I just don't know anymore._

Regardless of the road I chose, having sex with him tonight would not make anything easier- though the idea felt as tempting as ever before. I bit my lip, and tried to remember every reason in the world not to succumb- but I couldn't fully concentrate on any of them. How could I, with the man himself humming softly to the music, his arm securely locked around my waist, and that sweet licorice-cologne cloud engulfing me. Like usual, Freddie wasn't helping.

"Hey," Freddie cooed suddenly.

I smiled. "Hey."

"You're so quiet tonight," he said.

"I'm just thinking; there's a lot to think about."

"I know what you mean." He kissed my cheek. "Tell me, darling, what was it that changed?"

"Changed what?"

"What, um, turned you on to me?"

"You mean seven years ago, or when I arrived here?"

"I suppose what I'm asking is, what made you go from 'not in love' to 'in love' with me?"

"You know, I don't think it was any one thing," I mused. "Falling in love with you kind of sprang up out of nowhere, it took me a while to get over the fact that I was with you at all."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You- let's just say, you weren't at all what I expected."

"Is that good or bad?"

"That's very, very good."

His brows creased a little. "Well, I suppose the next natural question is, what did you expect?"

"Can I be honest?"

"I'll accept nothing less."

"And you won't get mad?"

"Probably not."

"That's good enough," I shrugged. "I, uh- I expected pretty much what I saw in the music videos, and the interviews."

"Music videos?"

"The, uh- promo films, I mean. Which means- I expected a guy who was loud and flamboyant in a crowd- but one-on-one was shy and reserved."

"I am rather shy," he countered. "I mean, I'm not when I'm on stage, I'm a big, loud ponce then. I have to be. But I admit, I can be quite shy around people I don't know."

"I was a perfect stranger to you, Freddie, but I've yet to see that kind of shy. That's what I mean."

"Maybe it never really felt like you were a stranger, and that made all the difference."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just- with you, I don't feel quite so, uh- so alien. So out of place. It may sound rather silly, but I don't know. Maybe you just know how to handle me," he laughed softly.

I looked into his eyes. "Do you really feel like that?"

"It's not just a feeling. I'm different from most people in many ways, I know that. I'm still a person, you know, I'm a human being, but I'm well aware that I don't exactly, um- fit the mold. That's just the way it's always been."

"Go on."

He shot me a furtive glance. "Shouldn't you be taking notes or something?"

I shook my head. "Keep talking, Mr. J. Harley's listening to every word."

Freddie flashed me the briefest of Mona Lisa smiles, before continuing. "It's just, I've- always sort of been on my own, ever since I was a child. I had to look out for myself, be my own protection. Who else was going to do it for me? My parents? They may as well have been on some other planet, for all the good they could do. If there's anything I learned at that school, it's that it's all down to me, and I- suppose I've never really had a reason since then, to- sort of take a different approach.

"But even with all that, I do so want to trust- I just don't pick them very well, I suppose. But I try. That's all I can do is try."

He looked back down at me and chuckled. "Listen to me run on. Here we are, dancing, and I'm just pouring my heart out."

"I love it. Talk all you want." I kissed his cheek, thoroughly enchanted once again.

"See there, that's your fault. You're much too easy to talk to. I think it's those eyes, they just- What I mean is, you would indeed make a lovely psychiatrist."

"Thank you," I smiled.

He seemed to pull me closer, cutting out whatever space remained between us. "If it's a job you're worried about finding, I wouldn't mind having a shrink following me around all the time."

"I'm not your therapist, Freddie. I'm your friend."

"Don't you mean, girlfriend?"

I stopped dancing. "Is that what I am?"

Freddie cocked his head. "You don't mind the idea, do you?"

"N-no... This just wasn't ever discussed, so..."

"Well, since you've made it quite clear you don't want to be my mother," he remarked, "you're either my therapist, or my girlfriend. Which would you rather be?"

A burst of heat bubbled up from my heart and flowed into my cheeks. "I'd rather be your girlfriend."

Freddie traced my lips with his finger. "That's exactly what I hoped you'd say."

"Does that make you, um... my boyfriend?"

"That's usually how it works."

"Oh." I swallowed.

"Why?"

"Nothing, I just- never had a boyfriend before."

His brows rose. "I refuse to believe that."

"It's true, though," I shrugged.

Freddie squinted. "How did you manage that? Someone like you I'd expect would have their hands full."

I turned away from him. "I suppose I- didn't exactly fit in myself."

_Then why have I decided to go ba-_

I stopped the thought in its tracks. Freddie was screwing with my head again. I'd made up my mind, and as unhappy as this decision was making me, I couldn't go through the wishy-washy back and forth again. I had to be strong.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and he twirled me gently back towards him. "You know something, Julia? I don't think you'd fit in anywhere."

"No?"

"No. You don't even fit in here."

I blinked. "Thank you?"

"I simply meant," Freddie explained, "that you're thoroughly unlike anyone else I've ever met- and I don't think I'll ever find another like you.  But," he added all of a sudden, "even with that in mind I just can't believe- Had you really never, you know- been anywhere close to in love?"

I shook my head. "Never. I was saving up for the right one."

"Oh, yes?"

"Mm-hmmm..."

"How did you expect to find the right one, though, if you didn't go through the whole-"

"It all worked out," I shrugged. "Quite beautifully, in fact."

Freddie blinked, waited for me to explain.

I tapped his chest, and smiled. "He's right in front of me."

_Why am I saying this? Of course I mean it, but why am I fanning the flames here?_

Somehow Freddie's eyes deepened as they looked at me. He touched my face. "Kiss me, darling."

"Wait." Suddenly I had a silly idea, one that could ease the building tensions- and they indeed were building. Running a hand through his hair, I whispered, "Freddie, can I try something?"

"Anything, dear."

"All right, close your eyes."

He closed his eyes.

Behind his back I went for the cherry cordials and plucked one from the box. "Now open your mouth."

Freddie opened one eye a crack, looked at me quizzically.

"Trust me."

An amused little smile creeping across his lips, Freddie opened up, but not too widely, and closed both eyes again.

I put one of the candies in his mouth. "Now bite down gently, so that it's half in half out."

He did as I said, and realized what I was doing. "ou're 'o 'illy," Freddie chuckled unintelligibly.

"Good man," I mumbled. Two seconds later, I leaned in and bit the other half of the candy, so that it looked like Freddie and I were playing a very intimate game of tug-of-war. Then we bit down into it, so that our lips brushed against each other's in a sweet, chocolate-flavored kiss. Some of the cherry syrup escaped and ran down from our lips, making us laugh into each other's mouths.

"Now that's a proper kiss," I sighed. "Always wanted to do that."

"I think some missed the mark," Freddie said. "I'll fix it." He licked the red cherry syrup from my bottom lip and chin. Quietly I did the same for him, and felt my tongue start to slide sensuously further along his jaw- but I stopped myself before I could get too carried away. I drew back and opened my eyes to see Freddie's were still closed, his tongue hanging out in anticipation as he nuzzled his head against mine. I should have laughed again- but the image was too hot to laugh at. I tried to swallow.

Freddie opened his eyes, and the look in them confirmed: this wasn't cooling anybody's jets.

"Year of the Cat" had ended, and the record ceased spinning. Turning his gaze away, Freddie glided, not to the record player, but my Android. He tapped the password in, then found my music. Quickly he walked toward the base of the stairs and placed the phone on the shelf, and a track I had never thought of as romantic before purred into the air.

"Girl," sang Urge Overkill, "you'll be a woman soon..."

Then Freddie brushed back up against me. "One more," he whispered, all innocent playfulness vanishing.

Before I could answer, he seized me round my waist and pulled me close while my whole body pulsated with wanting him. _Control. Just one last night. I want him so much, but I have to be smart here. Control. God help me._

But it seemed self-control was not the main act of tonight's show. Suddenly his hands had slipped back around my waist, then one of them moved down, slowly, slowly, until it took hold of my bottom and squeezed. My eyes closed involuntarily _._

I forced a laugh, saying, "Haven't you violated me enough in the past twenty-four hours?" As if it wasn't clear how quickly he was turning me on.

"Violated?" Freddie hissed. "I'll show you violated."

I felt him nipping his way along my neck, then my jaw, until finally he reached my ear lobe and sent spasms of delight through my limbs. We were swaying much slower than before, until finally we stopped dancing altogether.

"Oh, Julia," he murmured as he nibbled my ear, "we are going to make such beautiful babies..."

I smiled, belying how my body shuddered from Freddie's soft bites, and managed, "I thought we were going to buy the ready-made products from-"

"Actually, I've heard the homemade ones turn out better," Freddie replied. "Besides, we can't let John have all the fun. One and a half he has already; we'd... better get a move on."

"Oh, we'd be hard pressed to catch up," I murmured. "John's going to keep Veronica barefoot and pregnant until he's got six of them. Mark my words."

Freddie looked down. "Well, you're halfway there, anyway."

"Halfway where?"

The dark eyes gleamed. "You're barefoot, all I need to do now is get you pregnant."

I heard myself sigh more heavily than before. _My God. That was so hot. Somebody tell me why that was so hot._

His hands slipped up my back, searching for the zipper of my white dress. At the nape of my neck, the top clasp unhooked, and those big, wonderful hands slowly pulled the dress open. When the zipper had gone as far down as possible, I felt a single fingertip slide up against my spine while his hot, heavy breath puffed against my neck and shoulders. I swallowed hard.

_My prince, please,_ I begged him silently _. I can't let you do this to me again. We've done it a total of three times now, that's three times too many. Freddie, I'm in deep enough already, stop it!_

"No bra?" he noted, licking his lips. Suddenly his voice became dry and mocking. "Hmm. Someone's slacked off on the laundry, I suppose."

Freddie was teasing me now, so it was high time I started teasing him. I took a step back, and taunted him, "You make an excellent point; I'll go throw one on right now."

"How long will that take?"

"All night."

"That's too long."

"That's too bad!" I broke away from him with a coquettish little grin.

He folded his arms. "You don't want me tonight. Is that it?"

I began, "I didn't say that-"

"Forget it," he hissed. "I don't feel like playing this game tonight, so forget it."

Freddie didn't mean a word of it. He was pretending, testing me, I knew that. We'd done this countless times before- I'd seen this enough to know better than to buckle now. So I called his bluff.

I sighed. "Okay, then. See you in the morning." I started toward the kitchen- why, I don't know.

"So you _don't_ need me after all, huh?" he called after me.

"Again, I never said that."

"Doesn't matter what you said. It's either you need me or you don't."

"Oh," I pretended to think it over. "Well then, I guess I don't."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, fine. I don't need you either."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

We just stood there, daring each other with our eyes, and wouldn't budge a muscle. In the next second, my situation went from worrisome to critical: John Hiatt's "Alone in the Dark" began to pound a sinful beat around us. Even alone, this song excited me more than would be considered appropriate. Hearing it now, and standing ten feet away from a walking, talking aphrodisiac- I didn't stand a chance.

When I could bear it no longer, I asked him, "So what are you just standing there for?"

His hands clenched and unclenched at a steady rate. "Why aren't you, you know, going to bed?"

"I asked you first."

Freddie blinked, worked his mouth. "Why are we even being like this?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Do you?"

"Not really."

I nodded. "Maybe we should cut it out."

"Maybe."

We stood there a few more agonizing seconds, my body silently aching for his while John Hiatt cruelly tortured me, until Freddie exploded, "Oh, for God's sake, you evil little c--- tease, just come over here and let's f--- already!"

I laughed, because that had to have been the most unromantic thing he had ever said to me- but before I could say as much, Freddie held me captive in his arms. Once more I fell victim to his kisses, opening my mouth willingly when his tongue forced my lips apart.

Into his mouth I said, "Let's go up-"

"Uh-uh."

"But you said-"

"Right here."

"But this is the kitchen."

"What's your point?"

I didn't have one. So then I undid the buttons of his shirt and pushed the lapels apart. Breathlessly he shuffled his arms out of his shirt so that bare chest, which rose and fell more deeply with each passing second, was fully revealed. My heart pounded. I was standing before the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. There wasn't much fight left in me anymore. The fog had rolled in, and all I wanted to do was love him, please him- make him slowly, sweetly, lose his mind.

I kissed his neck, the caress of my lips growing less and less tender as desire took over, and suddenly I wanted to taste him instead of just touch him. I slid my tongue along his collar bone, rubbing both my hands up and down his hairy chest until his sighs turned into moans.

I loosened his belt, pulled it through the loops and threw it onto the floor. Before I could get to the rest, though, he seized the open back of my dress, violently ripped it off, and I stepped out, standing there naked except my underwear, with the wispy ivory gown in a pile at my feet. Immediately his hands found my breasts, his hips pressing closer against mine and letting me know how far this had actually escalated.

We were past the point of no return now. Not that I really minded. I leaned down a little further and, just to see what would happen, I bit at his nipples, rather like what he had done to me last night. Freddie closed his eyes, brows knitting together, jaw clenching.

"Julia..." he groaned, gnawing hungrily on my neck. "Baby, what you... do to me..."

He took one of my hands off his chest, placed it very pointedly upon another, more agitated area, and held it there. From the feel of things I really didn't have to do anything, but my eager hands didn't need much motivation anyway. His body quivered at my touch, his anticipating groans going straight to my head.

"Quick, these," he panted, tugging at his trousers. "Get me out of these."

Very slowly, I unbuttoned them, pulled them down, and gasped just a little when I saw it. He was ready, to say the least. I wasn't too far behind him myself- especially not after his hips began to grind against mine to the music's rhythm. He backed me up to the wall, and I wrapped one leg round his waist. He pressed one hand against my shoulder, and I couldn't see where the other hand went- but I soon found out. In my final moments of sentience, I realized what Freddie meant; the rough moans I heard escape my throat really did resemble a cat's meows...

"Come on, then, you sexy kitten," he taunted me, pulling off my underwear. "Tell me what you want."

I gasped, "...You."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Y- Yes, I... oh, God..."

"You can do better than that," Freddie hissed, his eyes aflame.

"Better?"

"Tell me what you want."

"You know what I-"

" _Tell_ me."

He was so close, and making me wait so long just to watch me writhe. I pulled him tighter against me. "Freddie, I need you, I need you now, please-"

"So you _do_ need me," he moaned, and licked right behind my ear, hands still working overtime. His hips were driving me crazy. "But how much?"

"Why are you doing this to m-"

"Tell me, my sweet little whore." He nipped at my breasts. "Tell me how bad you want some."

And then I snapped.

"Daddy," I murmured softly, "you've got this all wrong."

His voice rose menacingly. "Oh, have I?"

All of a sudden I felt my eyes widen, my teeth grind. The nails of one hand dug into his shoulder while I lifted the other hand to my mouth- and licked its palm. Before he could react, I grabbed him.

"AH!" he cried. "F---... _baby,_ hold on a-"

"That's what I'm doing," I smirked, sliding against the wall down to my knees.

He could barely speak. I kept this up another few seconds, relishing every tortured groan till at last he managed to pull me back upright and gasp, "Julia- I swear, I'm gonna-"

"Then what are you waiting for?"

The words were barely out of my mouth when he dragged me down onto the cold, hard tile and sort of laid his crumpled white shirt down under my back. What a slut I had let him make of me, about to make love right there on the kitchen floor. But I didn't care. I wanted him now, yesterday, tomorrow, forever. Tonight, perhaps for the last time, I was his; he could do as he liked, whatever he liked, however he liked. I didn't care. As long as he loved me, nothing else mattered.

But then he whispered, one more time: " _Tell me what you want_."

I can't account for my answer, because at least for the next two hours, I was not me; I was once more a slave, a brainlessly devoted slave that rasped between wet, ravenous kisses:

"I want everything you are, inside of me. I'm yours. You know it. So f--- me. Do what you want, whatever you want, I don't care, I don't f---ing care, just do it- take whatever's left, take everything, it's all for you, no one else, oh, God, Daddy, stop f---ing teasing and _take me NOW_!"

"Now?" he purred as he situated himself. A ridiculously rhetorical question, and one I could barely answer through the madness.

Still I managed to whisper, just for the sake of asking, "...Will you still love me?"

He looked deep into my eyes, and gave his reply: a hoarse, breathless, beautiful "Forever, my angel."

That was all I needed to know. I smiled. My other leg wrapped around his waist.

" _Now, Daddy_."

Eyes shut, I clenched one hand in his hair and wrapped the other around one of the table legs, letting out an involuntary scream as with no more words he plunged into me.

That night, if you were a fly on the wall, you would not have seen much at this moment, as the flat was dim in some places and dark in others. But oh, what a strange mix of sounds you would have heard, from all directions:

From the parlor, John Hiatt's guitar sending sexy wails into the air;

From the sofa, a restless Oscar picking a fight with Tiffany, meowing and hissing as they swatted paws at each other;

From the green room nightstand, the Relic beeping ominously, warning anyone who cared to know that the battery needed charging badly;

From the kitchen floor- and later, Freddie's bed, the sound of us, a young man and an even younger woman- two people who were never meant to walk the Earth at the same time, let alone meet- as we gave ourselves to each other, impatient in our passions, tragic in our destinies, loving one another as fully as we could, making the very most of our night.

A night that could never have been long enough.

***********************************************************************************************

One of his fingers twirled lazily around a stray, tangled brown lock. "...Darling?"

"Mmmm... yes, Freddie."

"You, uh- you were a virgin before I met you, right?"

"Mm-hm."

"Are you absolutely certain of that?"

I laughed into his shoulder. "Pretty darn certain, actually. Why?"

"Might I simply say, you don't exactly act like one."

"What can I say," I sighed. "You bring out the worst in me."

"If that was your worst," he mumbled, "I can't even comprehend what your best must be like."

"Speak for yourself, my prince," I said, running my hand through the damp chest hair and making him hum contentedly. "Half of that stuff- I didn't even know those were things."

"Anything you can think of can be a thing, really, if you do it right."

"That was deep," I murmured. "I think once I saw a coffee mug with that stamped on the side."

"F--- off," he snickered sleepily. "I'm too pissed for that shit."

"Done."

"Thank you."

We lay in bed, breathless but satisfied- and drunk. I admit it; we both were. I had been tipsy before, and accidentally high; but now I was solidly drunk, as was Freddie, on just about everything- alcohol, love, sleepiness (it was a quarter till two in the morning, and we'd come home at around ten that night- do the math), and each other.

His hand started rubbing my back. "Sit up, dear, let me have a look at you."

"I'm a mess."

"You're beautiful. Let me see you."

So I propped myself up on my knees, still straddling his waist, and bent toward him. Thanks to the light from the hall, I could see his face well enough to see his face was still flushed and glistening, and that his hair stuck up in all directions. Even in the darkness, his eyes looked sleepy as he smiled and crooked his finger.

I moved closer. "What?"

"There's still a little on your cheek."

"What?" I asked. "The cherry stuff?"

"Uh... yeah.  That." With that he slowly licked the side of my face.

I giggled sheepishly. "Well, I hope you're proud of yourself, mister- and what you've done to me."

"My dear, everything you are now is everything you were before; I just opened the box you were keeping it in, is all. So yes, I'm quite proud."

I rolled onto my back next to him. "Proud of being a bad influence?"

"That's the best kind. Who wants to be a good influence?"

"Not you," I smiled, hand sliding naturally over my stomach. I looked down with a sudden twinge. That reminded me- and now I had to ask.

"Freddie?"

"Mm."

"...What... what if I... do?"

"Do what?"

"What if I do end up pregnant?"

He looked at me, but it was too dark to tell with what expression. "That would be a hell of a surprise, wouldn't it?"

"I'll say."

All of a sudden he bent over my flat stomach and peered at it. "You think there's anyone in there now?"

"I mean, probably not, it's so soon-"

"Well, there's last night and this morning to consider too. You never know."

I smiled. "I doubt it-"

"And besides, it's never too early to make proper introductions," he quipped. Right before my bleary eyes, he poked his finger gently into my navel and whispered thickly, "Hello! Is anybody home?"

I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe this was happening.

"You may still just be getting settled in, so I don't expect, you know, a reply yet. Excuse the mess, she wasn't expecting company, I don't think. Anyway, the lovely lady you're inside is your mum- say hello, mum!" he coaxed, looking up at me.

"Hello," I whispered. "Now it's your turn."

"Oh, yes! And the very annoying man talking to you right now, which is me, I'm-" Freddie paused, as if the words were sticking on his tongue and he couldn't peel them off. Then he took a deep breath, and softly finished, with great effort, "I'm your dad." He kind of chuckled. "Wooh, that felt odd."

"I'll bet."

"So, um, I just thought we'd introduce ourselves, and we look forward to meeting you very soon, thank you, good night," he finished, pressing his lips to my waist. Suddenly he patted my breasts and whispered once more, "By the way, you are going to _love_ these."

"Freddie, you need help," I giggled.

"That's what you're here for, though, isn't it?" he asked, reaching back over again and wrapping me in his arms. "To keep me together?"

"Perhaps." I snuggled closer to him. My eyelids were beginning to feel heavy; we had made love all night and I was exhausted. My voice took on that creamy quality that denotes sleep is not too far away. "Freddie?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Thank you for the best birthday ever."

"My pleasure," he cooed. "And thank you for the cats- and other things."

I kissed his nose. "My pleasure."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I thought a moment, then smiled. "Just one thing."

"What's that?"

I opened my eyes again. "Will you please sing to me?"

The smile was clear in his voice. "What would you like me to sing?"

"Whatever you want," I whispered. "You make it all sound heavenly."

"Whatever I want. Right." Freddie thought a moment, and then asked, "Have you heard that one of ours called 'Teo Toriatte'?"

"Oh, yes. That one's wonderful."

"Very well. Teo, it is." He cleared his throat, brushed the hair back from my face, and sang in a voice in which one would sing a lullaby to a child:

_When I'm gone,_  
No need to wonder if I'll ever think of you.  
The same moon shines,  
The same wind blows,  
For both of us  
And Time is but a paper moon.  
Be not gone.

_Though I'm gone,_  
It's just as though I hold the flower that touches you.  
A new life grows,  
The blossom knows,  
There's no one else  
Could warm my heart as much as you.  
Be not gone...

When he began the chorus, my heart quickened, and I tried to ignore another lump starting in my throat. Oh, what a song to sing... and what words at such a time!

"Let us cling together as the years go by..."

_Oh, Freddie, did you choose this song on purpose?_

I was right back where I started this afternoon. I loved Freddie; how could I possibly leave him? How could I dare leave the safety of his arms, the warmth of his heart? As exhaustingly powerful as he could be, as moody and pompous and downright acerbic he could be, there was so much more to him, so much he had shown me, so much I loved! I loved all of him, even the ugly parts- for who in this world dares to call themselves perfect? After all, I wasn't perfect, and he loved me anyway. But why? Why me? Did love even have a why at all?

"...Let our candle always burn,  
Let us never lose the lessons we have learned."

Tomorrow was closer than ever; I would have to choose. So I did the only thing I could do: As Freddie crooned softly in Japanese, I sleepily nuzzled my face against his chest and said a little silent prayer.

_Dear Lord, I need Your help. This is a choice I can't make on my own. Be with me tomorrow, and help me do what You would have me do. If You wish me to stay, please give me the faith to stay on; if You wish me to go, please give me the strength to leave him. I am so weak, so much weaker than I ever realized._

_And whatever happens to me, please watch over my dear black-eyed prince- and keep him safe. This could be a new future; please don't let him make old mistakes..._

I drifted away just before I could get to the "Amen." Until next morning, when our destinies revealed themselves at last, I lay content, quiet, wrapped warmly in the voice of an angel.

 

 

 


	75. Freddie vs. The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal here. Guess I lied when I said the "Magic Mirror" chapter would be the last Freddie POV. Do forgive me. But anyway, here we are, the real and true final Freddie expose... in this book, that is. ;)

"Will you please sing to me?" Julia mumbles. 

She always asks so politely; I have to smile.  "What would you like me to sing?"

"Whatever you want.  You make it all sound heavenly."  She's lying so close to me that her lips gently graze my skin as she speaks.

The first thing to come to mind is a track of Brian's, called "Teo Torriatte."  It's one of the best things he's written so far in my opinion; of course, the fact that its lyrics are half in Japanese makes it all the more charming.  I offer it up, and she sleepily agrees.  Though I'm utterly spent myself, I have enough energy for just one song.  Besides, she's never asked me to sing to her before- all this time, two whole weeks, not once; I can't turn her down now.  I didn't write the lyrics, I didn't write the tune. The song, like I said before, is Brian's. But tonight, its meaning belongs to us.

The girl says nothing else after that, merely lays her head on my shoulder and listens to the song.  To be sure, I've sounded better singing it than I do now; my voice keeps cracking, and the words are harder to sing somehow.  Funny, that "Teo" is affecting me the way it is; I've never had these odd little pangs in my heart.  It's a very romantic song, obviously, and I can indeed be very touched by music- but this hurts.  Not in a bad way, though- it's a sweet pain, a gentle, dull ache in my chest.  

At last the song ends, by which point I can scarcely whisper. My throat is tight, my heart is aching, and my eyes are moist. I know I'm on the brink of tears, but even now I'm trying to choke them back. I don't know what's the matter with me.  I'm not alone, I don't feel helpless, my world isn't falling apart.  Those are the major reasons I cry.  Oh, well, I'm sure it'll come to me.  I do, however, get myself back under control, and for many minutes I just lay there and listen to Julia breathe.  

She's very quiet now, perhaps dreaming; I suppose she fell asleep while I was singing.  I chuckle to myself.  Oh, right.  So this little round-eyed minx takes wave upon wave for two plus hours and still maintains a champion's stamina- but she can't stay awake three minutes to hear one whole song.  Explain that if you will.

Speaking of music, I think the Magic Mirror is still on; I can hear a faint trill of some instrument through the bedroom door.  Of course, it could just be one of my cats asking to join the party; they do that sometimes, social things.  With a reluctant grumble or two, I decide I'll get out of bed to look into it, so carefully I slip my arms from around her waist and my feet to the carpet.

Throwing on my dressing gown, I open the door and creep downstairs.  Just as I suspected, the little black device is still playing her songs.  That "She Will Be Loved" thing I like is on again as I pluck it off the shelf.  I don't stop the music immediately, instead sing along (as best I can, I've only heard this song once) while I wander further on down.  There's still a few lights on, after all, and we left a bit of a mess in the kitchen before, ahem, retiring; I might as well kill two birds with one stone.

As soon as I walk into the kitchen, a big, naughty smile crosses my face.  There it is, the scene of the crime: my wrinkled shirt on the floor by the table; that lovely angel frock in a sorry-looking heap an arm's length away; the empty, no-longer-chilled bottle of vodka sitting on the counter.  I gather up our clothes and put them in the laundry room to be dealt with in the morning. 

I don't know what possessed me to just take her where she stood tonight.  I mean, I really don't know.  It's like I just turned into an animal or something and I had to have her right then, or not at all.  And it wasn't a one time thing.  It kept happening.  Different positions, perhaps, and different effects, but all hot- and all, sinfully erotic.  Julia's a, um, very eager pupil- and that's all I'm going to say about it...

_(Hm?_

_What do you mean, that's not fair?  
_

_Oh, I see.  You think I'm keeping some things a secret.  Now, really. Is that the kind of person you think I am?  Look. If you don't like the way I'm telling this story, don't listen and just draw to your own conclusions. As I was saying:)_

That reminds me.  The "mini-mes" and "mini-yous" thing- where in the world did that come from?  It's not like me at all.  I've never wanted children, because I've never wanted to be a father.  I'd be the worst father in the history of the world.  Mary asked me if I wanted one once, and, uh, in so many words, I said no.  It just wouldn't work, with my job, my lifestyle, my anything.  

Not that I don't like kids.  Other people's kids are wonderful, because I can appreciate them from afar, and I don't have to take them home. All the same, as cute as Robert is, I still don't really want children of my own.  I'm not a family man like John.  I can't teach anybody anything useful, and I don't want to be responsible for anybody but myself.  That's too big a weight- and I want to maintain a certain level of freedom.

Although, I must say, Julia would indeed look sweet with a tummy out to here, doing all those funny things that pregnant ladies do- and somehow it's terribly easy to picture her cradling a sleeping baby in her arms...

Oh, sorry.  I don't know why I'm even talking about this.  Darlings, if the spotlight has to currently be on me, do me a favor and don't let me run on about such things.  They're so silly...

_(Good Lord.  What now?  
_

_You still think I'm holding out, don't you?_

_So what if I am? My thoughts and feelings are just that- mine- and I'd really rather not shout them to the world right now.   Stop pushing.  Anyway...)_

The screen suddenly darkens on the Mirror; Julia says that's what happens when the power is running low. So I turn the music off and look around for that thing she plugs into the wall, where is it- ah!  Yes, by the dining room entrance.  It should be plenty powered up by tomorrow.  Ah, the miracle - and nuisance- of future technology.  You'd think they wouldn't even need batteries at all in forty years.  

Just before I go back upstairs, I walk toward the piano and pick the jade cats off their wood stand, turn them over in my hands.  They really are quite beautiful; Julia has a better eye for art than I realized.  I've never seen a carving like this before.  True, I don't naturally gravitate toward Chinese jade; I'm much more in love with antiques from Japan, they've been so good to us after all- but this is special.  

That diary thing of hers is over there on the sofa, still open to the page with the "contract."  Setting Yin and Yang down I walk over and look at it again.  I'm rather surprised that she signed it, really- but what's even more shocking is, I signed it, too.  

Then something in the contract hits me a little differently than before.  Julia made me promise to be wary of Paul Prenter.  Considering all she knows about me, what does that mean she knows about Paul?  She's obviously not his biggest fan, of course that's just a guess on my part; but when someone refers to a person as the "Antichrist," it's not typically taken to be a compliment.  What's going to happen with him, I wonder?  I start turning pages back, scanning for clues.

The first thing I see is a list, most of which is crossed out.  As I read it, I begin to see a pattern, and I start to laugh.  My God.  That girl knows me almost too well; these are all things that I like, and half of this stuff I haven't even directly discussed with her.  I keep reading, snickering at her little side comments, until I reach the bottom of the list- and all of a sudden it's not funny anymore.

Certainly not when the last four items are:

**_Mary_ **   
**_David (Minsy)_ **   
**_Joe (Liza)_ **   
**_Love (till it runs out)_ **

It's obvious she wrote this much earlier today, before she made out the silly contract thing, at least. Even so, a hot tongue of fire ignites in my head, burning the back of my eyes. In fact, I'm feeling quite high-strung all of a sudden.  That happens every time she mentions any of my lovers, past or present.  I don't know why. It's nothing to get upset about.  Never mind; this too will pass, it's not worth losing sleep over.

But the last line is what holds my attention the longest- and once more I'm hit with the total lack of faith she has in me; and how even after tonight's madness, and her utter surrender to my every desire- her expectations of me are so horribly low.  It, um- doesn't feel great, but you know, that's the most natural response.  There's better words to use, but for now, for the sake of this conversation, I'll just go with that.

_(All right, yes, I AM holding back! There, I said it, I admit it.  
_

_But there's a reason for it. I'm feeling rather emotional right now, so I'm basically on auto-pilot, going through the motions. Just thought I'd tell you in case you're wondering why I sound so stiff._

_No, I'm not going to go on about it. What a question.  
_

_Don't look at me like that! What do you want me to do, vomit up everything that I'm feeling, really feeling, inside?_

_Oh. F---. You do._

_I don't believe this. You burst into my bedroom right after some very intimate goings-on, sneak into my brain without asking, and just expect to get in on the things I keep tucked away in my heart. My God! Why does everybody want to know what I'm feeling? Those things are so boring, and anyway it's none of your f---ing busi-_

_Ohhhhh, now you've said please. Well, that changes everything. Good Lord. I don't suppose you're going anywhere till I do, either._

_All right, look. If I let you in, will you promise to go when I ask you to, and let me at least keep my dreams a secret?_

_Good. Then we have a deal. I'm not used to baring my soul to strangers, and I'm awfully knackered, so if the words come out clumsy, cut me a little slack.  
_

_Sorry for being so short, by the way. Just next time, ask, okay?_

_Here's the keys to the door, step right in. Tread softly, though, and don't touch anything. Remember, it's my heart.)_

Very quietly, in case I might disturb her, I play the chords of her still wordless song, softly singing her name to myself, trying not to explode. Tiff and Tom take turns rubbing up against my legs, as if they also know my balloon's about to pop. But to be honest, it's not doing much good. I can already feel it coming down, like a tidal wave crashing upon my head.

Ooo, here it comes.  Watch out.

I can't win. I can't f---ing win. Julia doesn't trust me.

I asked her what would push the right buttons, finally make her trust in me. Odd, how she never answered. Perhaps because there isn't anything that would. 

Oh, of course, she says she wants me, she needs me, she loves me- the Holy Trinity of Lovers' Pledges, we're covered on all three. But I want more than that. I want her to believe in me- to trust that when I tell her how I feel, I mean it with all my heart- but with everything I've done, it's never enough.  Not that she's demanding, or selfish.  Far from it.  Julia has asked me for maybe three things over the past two weeks, and she's more than reimbursed me, in various ways, for letting her stay.  

Funny, now that I think of it, how she never does ask for anything, never asks me where I go when I'm not at the studio, doesn't ask me anything about my lovers.  Naturally, she might mention them once or twice, but not in a curious or suspicious sort of way.  It's so weird; it doesn't matter if it's Mary, or David, or Joe, she acts like she expects them to walk in at any second, push her out the door, and claim me as theirs. Why can't she understand it doesn't work that way? Does she think I'm that shallow?  Haven't I made it crystal f---ing clear how I feel about her?  

Then I look back down at the book in my hands, and my shoulders sag as soon as I remember.  Quietly I walk back upstairs.  
  
For Julia is from the future, and spent many a day analyzing me from afar.  At last I wonder: what kind of person do I become later, if this is the way she reacts to me now?  Do I really turn into a monster?  And again, where does Paul enter into it?    
  


But that was the old future, right?  That's what Julia was saying, I think.  She tends to talk in circles when she's excited, so I can't be sure.  But she did say something about changing the future, and that things are more than likely different now.  Okay, fine.

SO WHY CAN'T SHE GIVE ME A BLOODY F---ING CHANCE?!?!

Absently I shuffle out of my dressing gown once I reach the second floor, hanging it up in the closet before coming back to bed.  Julia hasn't moved; she's still lying on her side, the sheets kicked all the way to her feet so that she is fully exposed from head to toe.  I bend closer, peering against the darkness, taking her all in.  

That gentle ache is setting in again, but this time it's not quite so subtle. The longer I look at her, the stronger it gets. I run my fingers through her long hair and breathe in her scent. She smells so good; hers is a warm, sweet fragrance- like gingerbread. I noticed that when she came up to Wessex the first time to bring us the wine. What a stupid excuse that was, in retrospect, just to have her pay a call on us- just so the boys could see I wasn't exaggerating when I said she was breathtaking.

That was a little less than two weeks ago, wasn't it? Back when I called her Eve. How quickly the days run by. The same day, I think, that we made that bargain: shelter in exchange for a favor a day- but the favors couldn't be sexual. Her idea, of course, that last part. And I was more than willing to go along, even after I broke the Relic.  I'm not drawn to straitlaced people; I assumed she would be no different.  

But the wild look in her eyes when we were recording the stomps for "We Will Rock You" tipped me off that there was more going on under the surface.  I saw a hunger, an insatiable excitement just waiting to be tapped- and it reminded me of myself, as does many things about her.

It was the Mercurena that settled it: I made up my mind that I would free Julia from herself- and that's when I started really feeling the pull, the attraction.  I did try and fight this feeling, you know.  I had Phyllis and Liza to juggle, after all, and that was trouble enough. I found Julia lovely, yes, even began to want her, but it was nothing I couldn't suppress.  

At first.  

I can only imagine how confused Mary must be. She's convinced that I'm gay, as opposed to bisexual, and I was beginning to agree with her. But now, here I stand, watching over this girl whose body I spent all night, as Julia put it, "violating." Life is ever so strange.

Even though I'm really only a few centimeters taller than her, Julia seems so small, curled up there in my huge bed, lying naked and vulnerable before me.  I shake my head.  God, she's young.  I only ever realize that when I watch her sleep, when her big, clever eyes are closed, and those sweetly cynical lips silently move in some random sleeptalk.  That's when she looks her youngest, her most innocent.  Twenty years old on the dot, and yet she's fifty-one years younger than me.  Just thinking about it makes me feel so f---ing ancient. 

A low, electronic beep cuts through my thoughts. I lift my head and look around, realize the sound is coming from the spare room.  My eyes narrow.

It's the Relic.

And like the wrath of the Almighty I storm into Julia's old room, fists clenched.  What's this thing making noise for?  Are they coming to take her away?

"You're too late," I whisper, taking it in my hands.  "She's staying with me."

It beeps again, and that somehow only makes me angrier.

"I don't care, you buggers!" I cry.  "You had your chance, but she's promised!"

And for a mad split second, I almost throw it to the floor and stamp all over it like it's some big cockroach- just some nasty nuisance that needs to be exterminated once and for all.

But I hesitate.  

I can't do this.  I've already smashed it once, trapped her here against her will.  If she's staying, it can't be because I've forced her to stay.  Yes, she's promised, but let her follow through on that promise herself.  Oh, it would be so easy to kill this thing, you have no idea how much self-control it requires not to.  But it's not for me to decide.  I have to leave it to Julia.  

Suddenly my limbs go numb.  She's still there, isn't she?

Leaving the Relic on the nightstand, I run back into my room, afraid to find a destroyed, empty bed.  She's lying there just like a moment ago.  But my eyes could be playing tricks.  That could just be what I _want_ to see.

I kneel beside Julia's body, then squeeze my eyes closed for a few seconds.  When I open them again, she's still there.  But I'm not convinced; tentatively I reach out to touch her arm, half genuinely afraid my hand will pass right through her.

But I feel her soft, warm flesh under my palm, and I let out a giddy sigh of relief.  She's real. At this moment, Julia is real.

I sound fanatically possessive, don't I? Well, I'm sorry. I am. Someday, you'll understand how this feels; someday, if you're lucky (or unlucky, I suppose it depends on your perspective), a beautiful, young angel will crash-land into your life, be everything you ever wanted- even the things you never thought in a thousand years you would want- and let's see how willing you'll be to let such a miracle go.  

I'll be honest: at this point I'm just waiting to wake up. Because only in dreams do perfect people fall out of the sky and land in your lap- and only in dreams are people allowed to be this in love without it killing them straight away.

And I do love her.  I must.  She's the only person who has ever made me do such peculiar things- whether that's sleeping in the bath or singing "Fever" for her in front of hundreds of people while dressed in a way I would never want anyone to know about.  Julia can poke fun at me in a manner that would infuriate me if anyone else did it, because it's always affectionate somehow.  Of course we've fought, and sometimes it's become quite horrible, but that's because we know what makes each other tick- we have each other's numbers, so to speak- and we always come back in the end, more attached than ever.

But it's a different kind of love from anything else I've ever felt.  I wonder if I should be a little worried.  You see, I wanted David before I ever needed him, the same goes with Joe.  I knew I needed Mary before I knew I wanted her.  I've been wanted by people who would never need me, and vice versa; and those I need always wind up gone in one form or another anyhow.  

For the first time, I believe I have met someone who needs me just as much as I need her.  And that is something I'm terrified of losing.  To think, all this time, I wanted to get rid of the upright gingerbread girl she is, when it's the gingerbread _as well as_ the naughty side, that I learned to love in the first place.

Speaking of David and Joe- I've got to do something about them.  Just not tonight; I'm crashing again, and I won't be clever with the answers this late.  I'll call David at least tomorrow morning, set something up to break the news kindly.

I creep back into bed, pulling the covers back over us before I nestle myself up against her, so that we're sort of spooning again.

Very softly I whisper, "Hey, Julia."

The girl stirs a little.  "Mmm...?"

"You know what we should do tomorrow evening?"

She's silent for a moment.  "...Play cards?"

"No, before that."  I run my hand along the curve of her body.  "I think we should take a hammer to the Relic, smash it to tiny little pieces."

"Oh.  Mmmkay..."

"And then we should take those pieces, and burn them in a great big bonfire.  What do you think?"

"Mmmkay... You're th' boss...."

She doesn't hear a word I'm saying.  I think I'll have a little fun with this.  

"And then, we should eat its ashes.  Sprinkle them all over our breakfast, and eat the, um- the ashes of the future.  Sound good?"

"...Awrite..."

I smile.  "And then we should... rob a bank.  A nice big one."

"Mmm-hmmm..."

"And shoot some people in the process."

"Ooo...fun..."

"And then we should get married.  For real."

Long pause.

"Don't you think?"

"Mmmm..."

"Is that a yes?"

Another long pause.

"Well, you've got all night to think it over."

"Mmm..."

"No rush, really.  I'll just ask you later."

"Mmmkay..."

I chuckle aloud.  Julia is so thoroughly soused.  "Good night, darling."

"Hmm..."  She throws an arm across my chest, snuggles closer.  "I love you..."

I blink.  "Say that again?"

"Said, I love you...my prince..."

Something about that name she gave me.  "My prince"- my heart flutters every time she says it.  perhaps because I can hear the devotion in her voice.  

And suddenly it hits home.  How can I say she doesn't trust me?  Look at what we're doing, what she's let me do.  This girl had so much to lose- her family, her world, her identity, everything she once knew and loved- but she's given all that up.  For me.

For _me_. 

I can't stop the tears from coming now.  I'm just so moved.  Julia loves me.  I believe that- and I will show her soon, tomorrow hopefully, that I can indeed be quite a trustworthy chap.  I have an idea.  

With a sigh, I kiss her neck, then her cheek.  "I love you too, angel."

And just to do it, I pat my hand against her middle, and whisper, "And you, if you're, um, in there."

I really should have my head examined.

But she's right.  This much I know: it's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new future.  I have nothing to fear.  Julia is staying.  And as long as she's with me, nothing really bad can happen.

We're ready for you, world!  Come for us!

 


	76. All the Time in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: This chapter contains mature content. Viewer discretion advised.

The next morning came so quickly that I almost didn't believe it had arrived yet. My eyes opened to Freddie's bedroom, and found a hazy, magenta sheen over everything, as though it had been sprayed in some kind of shiny, iridescent paint.  Perhaps it was merely the morning sun filtering through the curtains, my blurry vision scattering it in ways it hadn't intended.  I reached for the alarm clock on the nightstand, which said 8:14.

Less than four hours remained.  I shuddered.  Good God, it had crept up on me so fast. 

I rolled over, though slowly.  I had thought I was sore yesterday morning; but today, every little motion set off a rapid succession of aches in my muscles, to the point that so much as just wiggling my toes required effort.  Sweet Lord, we were stark-raving mad that night.  The things we did, I can't even talk about.  To this day, I've told no one- not even my Cousin Roxie.

But once I inched all the way onto my side, I found that I hadn't completely recovered.  Freddie was still lying there at my side, facing away from me.  His bare back, I saw, was riddled with red marks where my fingernails had scratched, and his hair looked so wild and curly I almost laughed.  I leaned over him, peering closer.  Little red splotches dotted his neck and upper chest, his skin smeared here and there with my shiny pink lipstick.

And that was just his top half.

_Did I do all this?_   I marveled.  _Was that me?_

I brushed the thick dark hair away from his ear and smiled.  This may sound absurd, but I loved his ears.  They stuck out just the slightest bit and came to soft points at the tops, making him look rather elvish at times.  I think he noticed this, too; in the mid-late seventies, his hair was styled to cover the tops of his ears.  But now that he was asleep, I could look at them to my heart's content without him feeling insecure about it.

I gently nuzzled my nose against his sideburns and kissed his jaw, loving the feel of his stubble against my lips.  Freddie's lashes fluttered a little at my touch, but the eyes stayed shut.  He let out a sigh through his nose, a dreamy smile crossing his face.

"Good morning," I whispered.

Then his eyes snapped wide open. Freddie turned his head toward me so quickly I almost fell against the covers.  He sat up and looked at me in sheer horror.

"Dear God," he said, looking me over in disgust.  "You?  I f---ed _you_?"

I cowered back and stammered, "Wh- what did I-"

"F---.  I'm really up the junction now.  Phyllis will never unders-"

"Freddie, why are you talking like this?" My voice caught.  In supplication I put my hand out to him but he recoiled, leaping out of bed and throwing on his robe.

He muttered angrily, "Shit, shit, shit. Mary's gonna kill me.  Look, Miss, uh, Whatever-your-name-is, this was a terrible mistake.  I'm sorry if I led you- uh, encouraged you, or whatever, I just- I need you to be on your way.  Now.  Are these your clothes?"

He picked up a pair of dark lacy lingerie and threw them at me.  "Put them on, please.  And fast.  I may have a chance if you leave now.  It's bad enough he knows about Liza, but you?  That's all I need.  I'll pay for your cab, and any other recompense in case of any disappointment you may have had last night, I just need you gone for good."

My head was spinning.  "But, Freddie," I tried to get the words out, "you- you _sang_ to me-"

He looked at me in irritation, like I was some generic fan pushing for an autograph while he was in the middle of a nice dinner out.  "I've sung to thousands at least.  Why should you be anything special?"

"But not just that, you- we-"

"We what?  F---ed?" he snorted, turning his back on me.  "Like I said, I've f---ed thousands.  At least.  What makes you think you matter?"

"Freddie, you _promised_ me!"

"Ah, well, isn't that the wonderful thing about promises: they always end up broken, one way or another."

I fell on my knees, on the verge of tears.  "Freddie, stop this!  It's not funny!"

He whirled to face me.  "You think I'm joking?" he hissed.  "I'm dead serious.  It's a naive one, you are.  Don't you know who I am?  Don't you know by now?  What would I want anymore with a girl like you, since whatever I wanted at first I've already taken?"

As he was talking, right before my very eyes, he transformed, and suddenly he stopped looking like Freddie.  I couldn't exactly say what it was he resembled now, for the magenta light was blocking me from seeing any specifics, but it terrified me.  The eyes turned utterly black, the whites swallowed up by his ultra-dilated pupils; his voice deepened, until he sounded just like Dr. C; his face grew rounder and his cheekbones lost their definition, rather like David's; the accent became less refined and more strident, more New York- uncannily resembling that of Joe Fanelli.  And still his face and body morphed and shifted, became leaner and more animal until it took the exact shape of a crouching black panther, claws out, sharpened for the attack.

I came so close to going berserk and screaming my head off- but then I felt a hand just barely squeeze my arm, and a warm body snuggled up close and enfolded me, and the magenta horrors froze.  And I realized at last: I was dreaming.

I heard Freddie's voice whispering sweet things I didn't understand, but with his every word another little piece of the nightmare faded away, so I just kept saying "Okay" and other things like that, until finally every last tortuous vestige had been destroyed.

The nightmare vanquished, I felt myself slipping back into total unconsciousness.  I rolled back over and curled up against him, managing a soft "I love you" before I finally drifted off one more time.  

At the time, I was happy to simply be rid of the images.  Funny, how I didn't dream at all of the cliff scene when Freddie was next to me.  It was Freddie who brought me the magenta dreams, but it was also Freddie who cleansed them.  He was my torment and my savior. 

Little did I know, the damage was already done.  Their effects, Freddie couldn't fix.  My doubts, my insecurities were what remained even when the nightmare had disappeared.  Images were erased, but the words, real and unreal, were still ringing in my head.  "Love enough for all of you."  "Promises always end up broken."  "How long till the love runs out?" 

It doesn't matter how strong you think you are: what you know, or rather, what you _think_ you know, always comes out on top of what you feel.  Doubt is so destructive even in small amounts; but if it's allowed to build up, and collect momentum -and worse, _hard evidence_ \- all the love and devotion in the world can't unshackle you.  It can never be enough.  At least, that's how it's been for me. 

Even though I didn't know what I would choose, it was already decided.  Always had been, in fact.  But I wouldn't know that until it was over- and much too late. 

But now, we slept, warm, happy and blissfully ignorant, hours flying, until the sun, the _real_ sun, peeped through the curtains on the next morning.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************

At six o' clock sharp, my eyes opened to a pair of long-lashed, shut ones. Freddie lay at my side, facing me. 

I leaned over to gently kiss his rough cheek, and would have whispered "Good morning" but memories of that nightmare were too fresh. I didn't honestly believe Freddie would suddenly erupt into that same shape-shifting doubt-monster, but I didn't feel like taking any chances just yet. I was way too sore for that.

But as soon as my lips touched him, his eyelids fluttered- and my heart skipped a beat. _Don't bite my head off, please.  
_

To my relief, he didn't even open his eyes, instead yawned widely, and said in a muzzy voice, "Hmmm... whatimizit?"

I smiled. "Six o'clock."

He rubbed his face, then rolled over. "Bad dreams?"

"No," I lied. "Just felt like waking up."

"Good for you... I should get out of bed myself..."

"You don't have to get up yet."

"Rubbish... you already up... make me look bad..." Freddie murmured into the pillow, before he sank back into sleep mid-sentence. I couldn't help smiling. God, he was so cute when groggy.

Very slowly I dragged myself away from him, almost limping to the bathroom. I had to clean up; remnants of last night still clung to me, and I wouldn't feel anything like myself until they had been completely removed.

I popped my contacts in, glanced in the mirror, and almost screamed at the wreck staring back at me. I knew Freddie had roughed me up considerably, but I didn't think it would be this bad. To put it mildly, I looked like hell. My naked body was bruised, my lips, neck, and breasts covered with red marks where he had bitten and sucked a tad too eagerly. My face was smudged with mascara, giving my eyes a hollow, sunken look, and my hair was knotted almost beyond belief, from where Freddie kept pulling and tightly working his fingers in it each time he took me. 

Cheeks flushing, I yanked off my thumb ring and set it on the counter. Tentatively I tried the wedding ring again, and found my finger didn't sting quite so much as yesterday (at least, not when compared to every other ache now plaguing my broken little body), but I left it on regardless. I stepped into the shower, turned on the hot water, and just stood there a few minutes, leaning wearily against the wall while it rained down onto me.

I stood there, combing the knots out of my wet hair with my fingers, and daydreamed about the night; how he had once again dominated my defenseless frame, taking me with that ruthless brutality- then caressing me with "I love yous" and the tenderest of kisses, holding me close as we came down from each high.

Wrapping the towel around me, I edged out of the shower, feeling much better now that I was clean. Softly I sang to myself, "What a beautiful mess, what a beautiful mess I'm in/ Spending all my time with you/ There's nothing else I'd rather do-"

I slapped my own face.

_WAKE UP, SLUSH-BRAIN!_ I berated myself. I suppose I wasn't totally gone yet; there was still a little shard of vertebra keeping me upright. _I have less than six hours now, and I have to choose! Shake the cobwebs out of that skull and start thinking again!_

So I started thinking again. And it became clearer than ever that I was, in reality, standing at that cliff from my dreams. My whole life hinged on this one choice: to stay, or to go. Live in the past, or live for tomorrow. The lover, or the life. 

I wanted to be loved by him always, but Freddie preferred things in multiples- and of a different kind than me. For however long I might be allowed to stay close to him, he would never make me his wife. There was no point in asking him and humiliating myself further. True: right now, Freddie loved me. And only last night we had promised to keep each other's noses out of trouble- but as my manifest insecurity had so nicely put it, "The wonderful thing about promises- they always end up broken."

Besides, Mary was the love of his life, not me. Everyone knew that.

I looked at myself in the mirror again. The red spots were still there, and somehow even more pronounced. But I was clean and fresh-faced; I couldn't ask for more. Oddly, I couldn't find the thumb ring. I knew I had only set it on the counter a moment ago, but for some reason I couldn't find it. Oh, well. It couldn't have gone far; it would turn up eventually.

I tiptoed out of the bathroom and put on Freddie's robe, then headed off to start a pot of tea and decide on a good breakfast. But before I could do either...

"Ju-liaaaa," Freddie softly cooed. 

I turned around. "Mmhm?"

He reached his arms out to me, eagerly opening and closing his hands. "Come here, baby."

I needed no more explanation. My heart melting within me, I padded over to the side of the bed and sat down next to him. 

He took my hands in his, a smile on his scruffy face. "Well, well. Don't _you_ look fresh."

"So do you."

"I look anything but."

"Okay, fine. You look like a hobo. Happy now?" But from my tone of voice, I may as well have been telling him "Hello, gorgeous." 

"I'm glad to see you, too, darling," Freddie replied. "God, I feel such a sloth. You're already up and I can barely keep my eyes open." He let go of one of my hands and rubbed his eyes, letting out a soft, uncomfortable sigh. 

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I just- I think I'm rather sore, actually. Last night was insane."

"You're telling me," I grinned. "Shall I rub your shoulders?"

"Honey, I'm not sore in the shoulders."

I blinked, and decided not to encourage that discussion. "Maybe not, but it'll make you feel better."

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, I'm no masseuse, but I'll try."

"Mmm... those sweet little hands don't have any trouble..." he murmured, then rolled onto his stomach. Freddie just loved to set up springtraps for dirty banter. But I'd already made up my mind not to fall into them this morning- on purpose, anyway. I began squeezing the muscles around his neck and shoulders, delighting in the yummy moans it provoked.

"Tell me when," I whispered.

Freddie gave some sort of reply, but he was face down into the pillow, so whatever he said, I only heard a mash of contented, garbled syllables. After a minute or two, I let my hands drift up into his soft, messy hair, and loved the way it felt between my fingers. _I could do this all day._

"Shame," I mused aloud.

"Wertsersherm?" Freddie asked.

"Hm?"

He turned his face in profile. "I said, what's a shame?"

"Shame you cut your hair," I replied. "It used to come down to your shoulders."

"You like long hair?"

"Yours, anyway. Looks good on you. Most guys can't pull it off."

"Well, I tell you, it was a nuisance. It frizzes so easily. Had to straighten it."

"With a flat iron?"

"No, dear, a clothes iron. I got the most peculiar looks from people in the dressing room." Then he laughed at his own sarcasm. "Yes, a flat iron!"

"We're feeling cheeky this morning, aren't we?" I noted. 

"What did you expect? Ask a stupid question..."

"Well, excuse _me_ for my stupid questions," I remarked matter-of-factly. I slapped his bottom and rose from the bed. 

Freddie sat up a little. "Hey, where are you going?"

I replied, "To start some tea, funny man."

"Darling, it's not even seven yet!"

"Yeah, but you like to get there around nine, and what's more you take forever to get ready, so I thought I'd get things going. Also, I want a cup of tea."

"Tart."

"No, I'm not, I just don't want to slow you down!"

He sulked. "Yes you are. I'll be up in a minute, you taskmaster."

"I'm not a taskmaster, I'm just trying to be conscientious of your commitments!"

"You didn't even kiss me good morning."

Freddie had me there, so I walked back and bent over him. "I'm sorry, my prince, I don't know what I was thinking," I whispered, before closing my eyes and kissing his lips. "Good morning."

I started to slowly draw back, but Freddie put his hand on the back of my neck and held me there. As always, one wasn't enough. Before long, the kisses stopped feeling friendly. My body was still very tender from last night's passion; I didn't think I could withstand much more so soon, and here we were again, turning each other on. I felt myself climb back up onto the bed, straddle his hips while a pronounced tent in the blankets formed just beneath my legs-

And then the phone rang.

Freddie closed his eyes. "I swear, if that's Straker-"

I burst out laughing. "Let me answer it."

"No, no, I'll handle this," he said quickly. Freddie sat up, lifting the receiver and declaring to the other end, "Have you any idea what f---ing time it i- oh!" Then his voice changed, became much less accusatory. "Oh, it's you, Paul. Good morning."

_Pudding Face! Great._ I took that as my cue to slink downstairs; surely Freddie wouldn't want me eavesdropping. Very subtly I crawled off of him, but Freddie held onto my hand and didn't let me go.

"Paul, really, I'm quite all right," Freddie assured him. "I'm honored that you're so worried about me, but-" A pause. "Oh, I know. I know. I can tell you more about that later- Are you going to come up there with Reid today?"

Wordlessly I pried his fingers off my hand and scurried away. But Freddie somehow managed to grab one end of the belt, undoing the knot when I walked away so that the robe, under which I wore nothing, flapped open. My face flushing (which really was quite ridiculous, considering he knew quite well how I looked without my clothes), I tried to yank the belt away from him, but he kept moving his hand just out of reach.

"That's wonderful," Freddie spoke to Prenter as if nothing was happening.

"I will hit you," I growled.

"Sorry, Paul, I'm actually in the middle of something right n- yeah. No, it's fine, I'm glad you called." Freddie winked at me and shook his head. "I'll see you later today. Oh, and don't forget to-" He smiled. "You read my mind. Perfect. Bye-bye now."

Freddie hung up the phone, looking a little confused. "That's so odd."

"What?"

"First thing out of his mouth, after Hello, was-" Then he shot a look at me and shook his head. "Never mind."

I folded my arms. "That's not fair."

"Oh, very well, you already think he's the devil incarnate." Freddie sighed. "I apologize in advance- but he said, 'Is that little c--- still there?'"

I sighed. "Remind me again, why are you guys buddies?"

"He had a rough time when he was younger. Very rough. I thought I'd give him a chance. If he talks that way about you again, though, I may have to rethink this whole idea of keeping him close. I mean, he's very helpful to me- very organized and things. But if he's really no good-"

"No, no, no. Don't not be his friend, Freddie, like I said before. Just don't let him run your life."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, I'm just saying. He's the last person I'd suggest to be managing you. That's all."

"Mmm," he nodded. "I'm not worried, I have you to protect me."

"Me? Protect you?"

"If Paul turns out to be a vicious little sneak, I'll just turn you loose on him. Watch you rip him to shreds."

"That's Rudy's job. He's your bodyguard."

"Yes, but I'd let you do the honors there."

"On that wizened fellow?" I shook my head. "He'd disintegrate if I breathed on him too hard. That wouldn't be fair."

"So you _don't_ want to tear him up?"

"Nah. I'd rather just shoot him."

Freddie laughed. "Oh, yes, that good old American way." He made a gun gesture with his hand and went "Pow! Pow!"

"Saves you from getting blood under your fingernails, see," I said. "Or on your clothes. It's very efficient."

"You sound like you're, um- experienced in this."

"Maybe I am," I whispered, saucer-eyed.

Freddie blinked. "I, uh- I was actually kidding, you know. About, um, all that- I was kidding."

"So am I," I laughed. "Even point-blank, I'm the worst shot ever. I couldn't hit a barn door from two feet."

"Oh, how disappointing," Freddie shook his head. "I suppose that means we'll have to let Paul live."

I nodded. " _This_ time."

"That's fair, I think." 

"Good. Shall I go make the tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely."

I pecked his lips and tried to walk away again, more purposefully this time, but he stepped on the hem of the robe, causing the thing to fly off of me and collapse by his foot. Now I was standing there naked, watching him for his next act.

Which was to draw the covers back, revealing that he was apparently not sore enough in regions besides his shoulders, and slowly saunter over to me. I didn't move. _So much for the shower._

"Freddie, I think you're even hornier in the mornings than you are at night," I said.

He stopped walking a moment. "Is that your way of saying you don't want to make love right now?"

"No," I smiled. "Just an observation."

"Well, I do like to start and finish things with a bang." 

I rolled my eyes, tried to laugh and mean it. "Freddie, you need to save your batteries. You've a big day today." 

"All my days are big." Freddie must have seen where my eyes went as he said that, because he added softly, "Just like my c---."

 

I just looked at him, blinking. _Oh, no, you did not just say that._ "I beg your pardon?"

His dark eyes danced with a risque gleam. "Isn't that what you were thinking just now?"

I pretended to be oblivious. "What?"

"That I have a big c---."

"No- although I do have to say- it is, I ought to know that much," I stammered clumsily. "I was thinking- I thought you wanted tea. And breakfast."

He smirked. "Later. First, let us attend to some unfinished business."

Freddie held out his hands to me- and then I saw it. He must have snuck in when I wasn't looking and snatched it off the counter. The Vegas wedding band, that cheap little thing I'd been wearing on my thumb all day yesterday, the ring that now sparkled happily in the bright, soft sunbeams creeping into the bedroom- was on Freddie's finger. 

Oh, God. That should have been enough. That should have been all I needed, as if I needed any more evidence. How could I not have seen it- seen what it meant? What he was trying to tell me? Such a fool. Such a fool. Oh, dear God, of all the lightning rods You could have sent, why did You send such a blind, blathering FOOL?

Freddie gently touched my wet hair, the new love bites on my skin, and smiled approvingly. "My God, you're beautiful."

I seized his ringed hand and kissed both sides. "And you- are- everything."

He shivered, then took me in his arms. There was something new in the way he held me at this moment. I felt desperation in his embrace, something helpless, like the way a child will cling to his mother when he's been terribly frightened. He wasn't being cute anymore. This was serious.

"I want you to stop," he stated.

"Stop what?"

"Stop worrying. Stop doubting. Stop playing coy and trust me like I trust you."  
  
"I do trust you!"

"Because, there's something I want to say," he went on thickly. "There's something I- oh, Julia, darling..."

"What is it?"

"Not now," he murmured. "I- can't say it now. I'm no good with words, you know that, my God, I sound like such an idiot when it matters."

"I don't care how you say it, just say it!"

But he shook his head vehemently. "No. It won't do. I can only show you- show you what I feel."

"But Freddie, there's so little time-"

"Darling, shh," he whispered, laying me down against the rumpled covers. "Besides, don't you know by now?"

"What?"

He Eskimo-kissed me. "We have all the time in the world."

I swallowed, then shut my eyes and let him take over one last time, writhing fitfully under his maddening touch, pulling him in deeper and deeper, crying out when the feelings became too much for my weary little body- while those last words of his rang in my ears, as they still do today:

_We have all the time in the world._

Oh, Lord, if only.

 


	77. See You in a Few, Part One

I don't know how he did it, personally- how he made such total surrender so delicious. I could never tire of the way Freddie would take me. There was a forcefulness in his manner, a hunger that just couldn't be satiated fast enough. 

But this last time, I noticed a difference. Much of the violence, it seemed, was lacking. Freddie took it slow and gentle, as though he was well aware of how sensitive I was this morning- yet at the same time, it was unbearably emotional, and I could taste the love on his lips, feel it tingling against my body as I held him. But the steadier pace didn't keep us from reaching a peak, as we brought each other to perhaps not the highest, but definitely the sweetest, climax yet. It didn't feel like some animal mating ritual, the half-crazed onslaught of earlier. We were literally making love- and it was beautiful.

The next thirty minutes or so passed in a warm blur; it was always such a struggle to clear my head after sex. We said some foolish, lovey-dovey things to each other, I know, things that look even more ridiculous when typed out, so I'll leave it to you to decide what exactly was spoken. I did end up having to take another shower, but not alone; we helped each other wash up, but _only_ in the interest of time, it was absolutely _not_ because I couldn't keep my hands off of him. (Yeah, I don't believe me either...)

While Freddie fixed his hair and took his time trying to decide what to wear, I trotted downstairs to fix some tea and get breakfast started; I was far too sore to slide down the banister. He would be leaving in about another hour, so I had to get a move on. I wished he didn't have to go to work today. True, I didn't want to smother him, but I also didn't want to let him out of my sight. Whatever time here I had left, I wanted to spend it with my prince. 

In retrospect, things might have turned out very, very differently if Freddie hadn't gone to Wessex Studios that morning. Everything is much clearer in hindsight, so clear it's almost ironic.

But as I was saying...

I poured a cup of tea for Freddie, fixing it up just the way he liked, then headed upstairs to bring it to him while he was getting dressed. But the door was closed when I reached the top. I raised my hand to knock, when I heard him speaking in a soft voice over the phone. Lowering my fist, I put my ear to the door and listened closer.

"...Have to see you tonight, if you're free," Freddie was murmuring. "It's important."

I frowned. _See who?_

But I didn't stay there. I'd done enough snooping already, and all it brought me was trouble. I went back down to finish what I was doing- but not without a little side speculation. 

All through cooking breakfast I practiced wearing my mask, so that Freddie wouldn't see my thoughts when he finally did come downstairs. He was still on the phone in our bedroom (Did I just say "our" bedroom?)- with whom, I couldn't tell- when I heard a knock outside. I blinked in surprise when I opened the door. While Rudy was never late, he was also never this premature.  
  
"Hi, Rudy!" I said with a smile. "You're so early today!"  
  
He did not smile back. "May I come in?"  
  
"Of course!" I let the big man into the flat. "You're just in time for tea."

But he shook his head, mouth pressed in a straight, hard line. One of the cats- I think it was Tom- padded over and nuzzled his leg. Usually Rudy would at least run his hand over the cat's back, but today he flatly ignored the affection, in fact seemed rather annoyed by it. I let all three of the cats out, as they'd just eaten and were ready to roam before sleeping another ten hours on the sofa.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. "I've just about finished making breakfast. We got toast, we got sausage, we got tomatoes- and eggs, which reminds me, how do you like yours?"

"I've already eaten, thank you."

His demeanor startled me. Rudy was behaving much the same way as he had when I'd first met him. I thought we'd worked past whatever misgivings he'd had about me. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yes, I'm well."

"You're acting like something is bothering you."

He shrugged. "Not really."

"Is Clarence sick?"

"This isn't about my turtle." His voice was getting testy.

"All right, then, so what is 'this'?" I pressed.

Rudy drew a heavy sigh, then looked steadily into my eyes. "I know what you're going to do, Julia."  
  
I squinted, and my insides felt a little queasy. Before I could ask what he was talking about, Freddie's voice pierced the silence: "WEEEEEEEEEEE ARE THE CHAMP-IONS, MY FRI-END..."  
  
"Somebody's ready for action," I chirped, turning to him.

"I'm always ready for action," Freddie crooned as he swooped into the kitchen with all the showy theatrics of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom. "And weeee'll keep on fight-in' till the end- God, I feel so good. I must have had a fan- _tas-_ tic night."

"Must have," I smiled. "Can you eat, or are you too high for that?"

"Pass up a hearty breakfast? Perish the thought!" He flitted toward me and kissed my cheek. "Ah, good morning, Rudy, how is the little reptile?"

Rudy turned bright red. The poor guy couldn't get a rest. "He's fine."

"Marvelous," Freddie sighed, just a tad absently. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a pen and a calendar book, marking something down. _Perhaps a note about whoever it is he's meeting. Wonder if it's any of the Big Three-  
_

I cut myself off. It was eight-fifteen, a little less than four hours before the choice. Now was not the time for suspicious minds.

Breakfast went too fast- or maybe it just felt that way. Rudy did give in a little, allowed me to pour him a cup of tea, and he watched Freddie and me quietly as we ate. When Freddie felt good, he felt like talking, so he talked. Not that he was prattling on and on about himself, but he was excited about work that day, as Queen were going to really dig into "Champions," and he had all these ideas and plans forging together in his head, not excluding that sexual motif he'd dreamed up only yesterday which he could just feel in his bones had some real potential. Not only that, but next week Freddie would have to zigzag between studios, as Straker would be needing his producing skills on his own album. Good Lord, was he busy lately.

"By the way, darling, when can we expect you?" Freddie suddenly asked.

I blinked. "Expect me?"

He took one last bite out of his toast. "You said you wanted to be there for 'We Are the Champions.' When were you planning to crash us?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to know how many minutes I have to count until I get to see you."

I folded my arms. "Uh-huh. When do you think I should come by?"

"Half-past noon, perhaps. I can have Rudy pick you up at twelve, or earlier depending on how bad the roads are."

I gulped. _Noon? But that's when they're going to call!_

"I mean," Freddie added, catching the look on my face, "did you have other plans already?"

Damage control! "Not really, no. Might, um- do a little more scouting for a job this afternoon."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Can't you do that later tonight?"

I laughed. "Freddie, the more of your day I take up, the faster you shall tire of me. Why tonight instead of this afternoon?"

"Because I may be a bit late coming home," he explained. "I've, um- got a little extra something I must attend to this evening."

_I know._

"But I still want to see you later today, so, I mean- you could save it for later. Besides," he added, "you can't really get a job here yet anyhow."

I picked up his cleaned plate with a satisfied smile. _Well, how about that. He ate all his food._

(By this point I'd caught on to how much Freddie would eat depending on the portion sizes. So many practical applications for psychology.)

"I can't?" I asked, putting the dishes in the sink.

"No. All you have is a counterfeit Passport from the wrong country. We'll have to get in touch with Sharon's PA, see if he can get his friend to cook up a fake visa, a fake birth certificate, or whatever else you would need."

"I know, and thank you, it's just- my God," I realized. "I'm so illegal."

"Well, you ought to be, my dear," Freddie muttered slyly, getting out of his chair.

I stuck my tongue out at him. "But what if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught. Darling, you don't even exist yet, as far as they're concerned. You're a blank slate; here, you can be anything you want to be- and I want to help you do it."

"And that I still do not understand," I sighed. 

"What?"

"The why."

"The why of what?"

"Why you decided to be so kind to me- why you decided to fall in love with me-"

"Decided?" Freddie shook his head. "Darling, love isn't a sort of voluntary- it's not a conscious choice. It just happens. It just hits you, in the most mysterious ways, the strangest thing could set it off. That's why it's called falling in love, I think."

I cocked my head, curious. "Go on."

"When you fall, you're not trying to hit the ground. It happens on accident. You trip, stumble, whatever. But when it really happens, it happens without anybody really trying. Love is very annoying like that."

"Like what?" I smiled. "There's no control, you mean?"

Freddie's eyes gleamed. "You could say that." 

"I think you're right," I agreed, walking closer to him. "That's very annoying."

"Mm-hm," he nodded. "Extremely."

"Well, then, never mind why," I went on softly. "Do you know _what_ strange thing turned you on to me?"

Freddie smiled. "Actually, I do."

"What happened?"

He opened his mouth, about to answer, when his eyes drifted to the clock, and he stopped himself before he started. "I'll tell you later today. Be right back, I, uh- left something upstairs." Freddie darted out of the kitchen and up the steps.

"What?"

"My flat keys," he called back. "Good Lord, you're nosy." _  
_

_Everybody's got something to hide except for me and my Relic_. 

Speaking of secrets, Rudy still hadn't spoken since Freddie asked him about Clarence the turtle- and what he said about knowing what I was going to do bothered me extensively. He was such a wise man, it made me wonder; had he caught on to my dilemma when Freddie hadn't even noticed? 

The chauffeur was standing nearby; I turned to him and whispered, "Rudy, what's wrong?"

Rudy shrugged. "Nothing."

"What did you mean, you know what I'm going to do?" I asked.

He nodded. "Oh, that."

"Do about what?"

"Julia, if the question is even bothering you, you know what I mean."

"Any cryptic comment is going to bother me," I countered. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything in particular."

He just looked me over, shaking his head. "I'll be honest, I've been dreading today. I knew it was coming, always did, but now that it's here- I wish I could fix it so that what's coming doesn't have to happen." Rudy sighed, then put his hand in his jacket pocket. "But I suppose it does."

I frowned. "Rudy, you're confusing me."

But even now, he refused to explain. "Here," he whispered. "Take this."

Rudy placed the fortune cookie he had saved from dinner into my palm. This wasn't helping.

"Can I open it?" I asked. 

"No, not yet," he shook his head. "After you've made up your mind- and there's no going back, whatever road you choose- open it."

"You _do_ know!" I exclaimed.

And then the tiniest of smiles flickered on his lips. "I," he sighed, "know a lot of things."

A light went off in the back of my head. Something was terribly off here, and I was only just now realizing it. All this time, I took it for granted that Rudy had never been mentioned by name in any Queen account I had read, was never interviewed, was never pointed out by anyone (except once, possibly, in the "Is This Man a Prat?" interview, there's a reference to a nameless "intimidating bulk of muscle" present)- but wasn't it really rather strange that he should never have come up at all? He was everywhere and everything Freddie needed him to be- and yet nothing was ever spoken of him.

"Rudy," I said softly. "Who are _you_?"

He smiled and bowed slightly. "Just a common driver, madam- who wishes you the best of luck."

"Right, I'd better head out now," Freddie said, rushing down the stairs. "I'll see you at noon, right?"

He went into the kitchen fro something, but I was too distracted to really notice. "Right."

"Good." Freddie stuffed the thing into a pocket, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Then come on, Rudy, let's go. See you, darling!"

They were filing out the door when I suddenly unfroze, and my head cleared. Freddie was leaving. A little over three hours remained. This could have been the last time I ever touched him. And that was the most pathetic goodbye kiss in the whole long sordid history of goodbye kisses. 

I'd soon fix that.

Feet flying, I burst through the front door, following them out. "Wait! Freddie, hold on!"

Freddie whirled around, arms folded in a pout. "I was wondering when you'd wake-" he began, before I more or less tackled him, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him so tightly I was surprised he could still breathe. Within seconds he wrapped his arms around me, lifting me a little off the ground. I don't know how long we stood there, pressing our faces into each other's necks and making Rudy wait, but it wasn't long enough to suit me. 

Filling my lungs with his wonderful, rousing scent, that familiar licorice and cologne, I drew away a little, relaxing my hold on him. Perhaps I should have told him everything in that moment, told him what those dreadful people from home expected me to do in a few hours' time. But I didn't. I just stared at him. What a beautiful face he had, with beautiful eyes that served as windows to his beautiful, tragic soul. I know it now just like I knew it then.

I could not live without this man by my side.

Freddie smiled. "Darling, what is it?"

"Nothing," I whispered. "I just- love to look at you."

His brows knit a little above those dark, melting gems. "You are coming this afternoon, aren't you?"

I blinked, hesitating just a moment, searching for the right words to say. And then, this came out: "If Rudy arrives before or right at noon today, I'll come. If he arrives later, I'll- have to wait to see you later. Okay?"

"Sounds fair," he agreed, calling behind him, "Rudy, dear, don't fail me today."

Rudy nodded, but his face seemed to darken. Freddie missed this; he had his back to him. But I didn't. All of a sudden I wanted to open that stupid fortune cookie. Oh, how I hated reading through this mystery novel with its last page torn out!

But then Freddie looked back down at me, smile vanishing. The emotions in his eyes were so strong that a smile wouldn't have fit anyway. 

And he whispered, "I'll come home as soon as I can tonight- I don't think I can keep dodging this any longer. I'm pushing my luck as is, I know."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see," he said quietly. "Have you one more kiss for your prince?"

I balked a moment, then shut my eyes, leaned forward, and kissed him. Time stood still- I know that seems such a generic, cliche thing to say, but it truly did, for us. Our eyes were shut, our lips pressed close against each other's, while all else in the entire universe came to screeching halt. If I could save a moment, and live it over and over again, it would be that last kiss. 

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone.

Very slowly, the world began turning again, and Freddie gradually pulled away and slipped into the car. I watched him closely. I wanted to forget nothing, no matter what.

Just before the Rolls drove away, leaving me alone on the sidewalk, Freddie leaned out and winked. "See you in a few, darling."

I nodded and waved.  _I love you, Freddie._

Then he disappeared into the Silver Shadow, which pulled away and rolled down the street, further and further away from me until it turned the corner and vanished.

And I wanted to cry.

_ **TO BE CONTINUED...** _

 


	78. See You in a Few, Part Two

As much as I wanted to collapse into tears there on the sidewalk, I didn't. My throat constricted, yes. My eyes watered, yes. My newly stitched up heart again began to come apart at the seams, yes. But I didn't cry.  When I could see the Rolls no more, I turned with a stiff upper lip and went back into the flat.

Oscar alone had stayed behind when I let the other cats outside to mill about the back garden.  His green, feline eyes followed me as I walked further inside.  On impulse I bent down and scooped him up into my arms.  He lightly scratched at my shirt, his claws snagging on the fabric. 

"Put those away, sweetie," I whispered.  "If I'm leaving, he's not going to be able to return any clothes that are ripped up."

Even now, I was so afraid to consistently commit myself to one or the other.  Everything was an "if."  If I leave him, if I stay, if I can take that one irreversible leap of faith, or if I instead prove a coward.  All these "ifs"- and time was running out.

First things first, however.  No matter what I chose to do, I couldn't leave a mess.  Getting busy helped to clear my mind anyhow.  So I set Oscar down and trotted upstairs to strip our unmade bed. 

I drew the curtains back, flooding the room with light.  As if it wasn't apparent enough in the dark, the morning sun clearly revealed how much havoc two days' worth of sex could wreak upon unsuspecting sheets.  In spite of myself, I had to stifle a little smile as I pulled the utterly destroyed satin covers off the mattress, carted them into the laundry room, and threw them into the washer, starting the cycle immediately.  A few clean clothes were in the basket; I folded them.  Then I washed the dishes, letting them drain and air dry beside the sink.  I looked around for any other household chore I could do, but Ms. Cottage was a thorough woman, and she would be coming in tomorrow anyway.

I looked at the clock.  9:45.

I felt like I was on Death Row, sitting in my cell, twiddling my thumbs while I waited for my name to be called.  The silence about me was wearing on my nerves.  Perhaps a little Magic Mirror music would settle me.

But when I searched for my Android, it was nowhere to be found.  Last time I saw it, it was sitting on the shelf by the intercom, playing John Hiatt.  I didn't remember doing anything with it after that.  I did find my charger, which was plugged into the kitchen wall, but no phone.  I plucked it from the outlet, then kept looking. 

Rummaging through one of the drawers, I came across Freddie's little planner, the same in which he had written this morning.  There seemed to be something between the pages- something black.  I opened it, but to my disappointment found it was only a black ballpoint.

_Rats!_ I muttered inwardly.  _Where could it have gone?  Did one of the cats drag it off somewhere?_

Just before I closed the planner again, the name "Phyllis" caught my eye.  Frowning, I squinted at Freddie's wild cursive- and went pale:

_**Phyllis 8:00 at the R** _

I swallowed and closed my eyes. So that's what he was doing tonight. He was meeting Phyllis, code name for David, at the Ritz Carlton, at eight o'clock.  Funny, how he didn't give me any details; all he said was that he'd be home late. 

_Don't think it.  Don't think it.  It's not going to help, don't think it._

But I thought it.  It was such an obvious conclusion, I couldn't help myself:  
  
_It's already happening. The love is running out. Dr. C was right._  
  
Suddenly I felt like I was choking; I put a hand to my throat, unable to breathe.  I had already slipped in his eyes.  One day.  Just one whole day, he let me borrow all his love, and here he went again right back to old habits- and old lovers.  Oh, God.   
  
"I have love enough for all of you." The words burned in my ears.  Minsy's words, true; the cherub could have been lying.  I didn't want to believe Freddie said that to him- but still, wasn't that such a Freddie thing to say? 

"Wait," I barked aloud.  _I can't just assume the worst.  Every time I do that, something terrible happens.  Freddie loves me; I saw it in his eyes.  Even John thinks I should give him a chance._  
  
But was this really a chance I could afford to take, all things considered?  Wasn't this rendezvous reminder evidence enough? 

  
Before I could answer my own question, someone knocked on the door.  _Go away_ , I said to myself.  _Let me have a breakdown- another one- in peace._

Still, I walked over, and called through the door, "Who is it?"

A cool, female voice replied- one I recognized all too well.

"It's Mary."

  _Good God.  It never rains, but it pours._

I bit my lip and put on a good face before flinging open the front door.  There she stood, the love of Freddie's life, his very best friend, hands tightly clasped behind her back, eyes focused on her feet. 

"Hello," I greeted her at last.

"Hello."

I've never felt more awkward around anyone than I did around Mary- and her added presence did nothing to soothe my soul.  In spite of the friction between us, I was still Team Mary, if I absolutely had to pick a team- but I did not have time for this. 

After a beat, I cleared my throat and said, "If it's Freddie you're looking for, he's already-"

"I know," she replied.  "But I came to speak with you."

_Oh, crap, what now?_

"Me?"  I blinked.  "Okay.  Uh- won't you, um- won't you come in?"

"Thank you." 

She walked slowly into the flat, and I closed the door behind her. 

"Cup of tea?" I offered automatically.

But Mary shook her head.  "I don't intend to stay long.  I was on my way to work and I- I had to stop and see you- get something off my chest.  I can't bear it any more."

I nodded, confused.  "Have a seat, won't you?"

So we each sat down across from one another, comfortably nestling on the sofas.  I couldn't help but notice something new in her expression.  It was still on the blank side, true- but now I detected a tinge of guilt, and it seemed to me that her face was rather flushed, and her eyes puffy, as if she had just finished a nice long crying jag.  Mary stayed silent a moment, biting back the words she came to say, clenching her hands in her lap. 

_Come on, Mary, out with it so you can go to work, or go home, or go wherever- as long as you, you know, go away._

"Okay, so," I coaxed after a little while, "what did you want to see me about?"

Mary lifted her head and shrugged.  "I came- to apologize."

I squinted.  "What?"

"I've behaved very badly," she whispered, "and I'm sorry."

"I don't understand.  You didn't do anything-"

"Oh, yes, I did," she interrupted me.  "I did something terrible to you, it wasn't right of me, I- I don't know what possessed me when I came over that day."

"Mary, whatever it is, there is no need to- _what?_ " My eyes widened.

She swallowed.  "Do you remember when I came by the day before the party?  When I took that book to Freddie?"

I nodded, waving my hands.  "Mary, I knew it was you.  It's all right, that's what you came for, he asked-"

"It's not what I did, Eve," Mary clarified.  "It's what I said."

She had my attention now.  "What do you mean?"

"When I," she sighed, the words slowly escaping her lips as though they left some horrible taste on her tongue the moment they hit the air, "told you that Freddie told me that- he was in love with you?"

"Yes?"

"That... wasn't true."

I frowned, unsure of what she was getting at.  "So wait, you're saying-"

"Freddie never said- outright told me he was in love with you.  I made that up."

I just sat there, dumbfounded.  Mary continued haltingly, "I- said that because- I don't even know why.  I just felt like saying it, so I said it.  But I did know- I could tell- that he was.  In love with you, I mean, I just- decided I would tell you, because you obviously hadn't noticed."

I blinked slowly, still trying to digest her words.  _So she lied to me- but why would she admit it?  Why would she tell me so?_

Which is what I asked her.  "I accept your apology, but why are you telling me this?"

"Because, I've been thinking.  I've thought about this all day and all night- and I know I was wrong.  I misjudged this whole situation so badly.  You see, I believed you were- sort of an opportunist, rather like his new friend.  That Irish fellow, Paul."

I blinked.  "So you don't like him either?"

She laid a finger to her lips.  "Not a word to Freddie- but no.  And I gather you're not keen on him yourself?"

"I hate him."

I saw something very similar to a smile twitch on Mary's lips, but it didn't last more than a second.  She looked me over. "You love him, don't you?  Not Paul.  Freddie."

"Why not?" I tried to sound blase.

"You do. Madly. I can tell."

"How?"

"It's in your eyes," Mary answered. "I saw it even before I told you about him."

"I can't help it," I sighed with a smile. "He's hard to fully understand, but so easy to love."

"You know, it wasn't at all that easy for me. It took me a while to fall in love with him."  She shot me a look that seemed to question whether I could say the same.

And as sorry for Mary as I felt, I heard my head voice quip, _It took me seven years and two weeks, Toots.  Beat that._

"But, at the party," she went on abruptly, as if continuing a monologue she may have been reciting in her own mind, "I realized- when I saw you two together, watched you interact- that's when it occurred to me."

"What did?"

"That I was wrong," she said quietly.  "That... Freddie does truly love you."

For some reason, I still wanted to let her down easy.  "Mary, it's anybody's guess as to what he really-"

"I know him, Eve.  I know him like the back of my hand.  We lived together for five and a half years, were lovers for almost all of them- and in that time, he never once looked at me the way he looked at you that night." 

"That doesn't mean a thing.  You know him worlds better than I do, and for longer. He trusts you. It's not the same."  
  
But this didn't seem to make her feel any better. Mary sighed, brushed a quiet tear away from her eyes.  "I wish..."

"What?"

She shook her head.  "Nothing."  With a subtle glance at her watch, she rose, dusted off her hands.  "I must be going.  You will take care of Freddie for me, won't you?"

There was something oddly final in her voice, and it scared me.  "What do you wish, Mary?" I asked.

"Nothing, I said," Mary huffed.  "I just- I know I will miss being needed."

"By whom?"

She shrugged, and started for the door.  "Freddie, of course."

I ran after her.  "What are you talking about?  He does need you!"

Mary's face pinched.  "Not anymore."

It took a minute for me to register what was happening.  She was making for the door, talking as though she would never show her face here again.  And then it hit me.  It was just as I had feared; I really had ripped Freddie and Mary apart.  I had come along at the rockiest point in their relationship, and rubbed so much salt into their slowly healing wounds they might never recover.  Freddie was losing her and he didn't even know it.

Perhaps this was a new future, a new horizon, and maybe things were indeed vastly different, but Freddie couldn't lose Mary, not now or ever.  That just couldn't happen.  I had no choice.

My body kicked back into action.  "No! Stop!" I screamed, chasing her out the door.

"I have to go to work, Eve."  Mary put the key into the car door lock.

"Listen to me.  You can't do this!  You can't abandon him!  You know you're all he has!"

She looked back at me with those pretty, flat eyes.  "He's got you, hasn't he?"

Then I blurted, "No, he hasn't!"

"No?"

"NO!  I'm leaving!"

Mary seemed to draw back a little.  "You're what?"

I swallowed, feeling my own tears finally start at the back of my eyes.  "Mary, I'm leaving him today."

I don't know why she looked so horrified when I said that.  "But- but you can't!"

"I have to," I croaked.  "Because if one of us has to leave him, if that's the only way this works, and that's how it looks- then it has to be me."

"Eve, he doesn't need me, he needs you, you make him happy-"

"Mary, shut up," I snapped suddenly.  "Just shut up, okay, and let me explain!  Can you do that?"

She didn't even bat an eyelash.  "I haven't much time-"

"You would drop everything and anything for Freddie, pretend I'm Freddie for thirty seconds.  Okay?"

With a sigh, she folded her arms and leaned against her car.  "Go ahead."

I spoke quickly.  "Look.  You don't know what I know.  You may know what's inside Freddie better than anyone- but I know what's ahead of him."

Mary frowned.  "How?"

"It's complicated.  But I know- that somewhere soon, down the road, I've been told, by people who monitor this stuff- that Freddie and I will split.  It won't last, Mary.  I-" My throat seemed to tighten even more but I kept going- "I love him, but- Mary, he told me himself, I couldn't ever replace you."

"He said that?"  Her voice sounded hopeful.  It made me sick, but I just continued.

"Yes," I nodded, leaving out the all-important second part of what he meant.  "You can ask him.  And I couldn't, not in a thousand lifetimes.  He needs you, he will always need you, you know how he is, he picks them so badly- my God, I'm the prime example of that- but you, you he got right.  And you're the only person he can count on, and if he loses you- that'll be the end of him.

"If I don't leave him now, he's just going to leave me later.  I might as well do it first.  I'm a flash in the pan.  It's already begun to fizzle, whatever it is we have.  But in his way, Freddie will always come back to you.  It's bad enough he will have to lose one of us- but he cannot lose both. 

"You see," I concluded, my throat so tight I had no more voice, "I do love Freddie- enough to let him go." 

Mary didn't reply for a moment or two.  All she did was slowly blink once or twice. 

I broke the silence.  "Anyway, I wanted you to know what it's all about," I shrugged, turning back to the flat.  "I won't keep you any l-"

"Eve."

Biting my tongue, I took my time in facing her again.

She looked me over, almost smiled, and said, "Thank you."

I coughed a little.  "I don't know what you're thanking me for, but- you're welcome."

Mary lowered her head again and opened the car door, but it was clear she felt differently.  I saw rays of hope in her face,  as well as affection for Freddie, and gratitude for me. 

"Take care of yourself," I called to her before she pulled away.  She nodded, but did not reciprocate the benediction save with a smile. 

What a wonderful turn of events, what a happy conclusion.  Everybody was getting their just desserts.  Mary still had Freddie, Freddie still had his world, and I had- to go home.

_I guess it's official now._

I didn't wait for Mary's car to disappear.  As soon as the wheels started rolling underneath her I whirled around and hid myself in the flat.  I couldn't be the reason he lost someone so special.  She wasn't special to me- in fact, I disliked her more than I ever thought I would- but she really was not the bad guy in all this.  People do things out of desperation, or fear, that they would otherwise never even think of doing.  Mary may have lied to me- but in all honesty, were I in her place, I'm not sure if I myself would have acted any differently.

_I swear, if anyone else calls me, or knocks on the door, or drops me a letter by f---ing carrier pigeon, I'm just going to tell them to f--- off.  If it's good enough for Freddie, it's good enough for me._

It was now a little past ten.  Whatever was left to do, I had to do- and quickly.  I went to the spare room closet and laid out all my seventies' clothes on the bed.  In order to save Freddie a little time and energy, I sorted them all out by department store and boutique.  None of the clothes looked excessively worn; he might have Rudy return them, in order to get some of the money that he'd lavished upon me back in his wallet.

Finally, everything having been categorized, I shed the 1977 garb I was wearing, stripping down to my underwear.  Then I reached for my old, unexciting black turtleneck and jeans, which were looser on me around the waist than before.  I really had lost weight.

I picked up the tracker from our bedr- I mean, _Freddie's_ bedroom floor.  The light within was burning red, though a fainter red at that.  Quietly I slung it back around my neck and slid my feet into my flats.  I looked in the mirror on instinct, studied the young woman staring back- a woman that was me but wasn't me.  The woman's makeup was tidy, her hair combed and smooth, and she had a fair, mostly unspoiled complexion (as in, the turtleneck hid ninety-five percent of Freddie's love-bites).  But she looked tired, used, unhappy- ready for this whole charade to be over and done with. 

And I was.

Lastly, I sat down with a pen and some of his stationery.  I would not be able to explain verbally why I was breaking my promise; I'd have to take it all down in writing.  And it wasn't easy. 

It took me almost one whole hour and three rough drafts to finish that letter, to make it say all the things I needed it to say. I might have given it even more attempts than that, but I wasted too much time wallowing in unhappy little sobs or mad, incoherent prayers that Freddie would show up out of nowhere and destroy the Relic before that wretched, tinny Valkyrie ringtone sounded.  But nevertheless, this is what I ended up writing:

**_Dear Freddie,_ **

**_I'm sorry._ **

**_You have no idea how much I hate myself for this. Even now my heart is telling me I'm making a terrible mistake. But there's no other way._ **

**_I could never thank you enough for all the wonderful things you gave me, be it your trust, your protection, your care. You showed me what it was to laugh, to hurt, and to love. And I do love you. So much. Oh, my prince, if you only knew how much you mean to me._ **

**_If this were a perfect world, and everything happened the way I wanted it to happen, I would not only stay. I would stay forever. If all my wishes were to come true, and only my wishes mattered, I would be your wife and the mother of your children, living to do and be whatever you wished, loving you until I drew my last breath. But the world does not revolve around me, and what I want. I must think of you as well. And being a husband to a wife, or a father to children, I know, is not high on your list of priorities. I'm not saying that to be mean; it's the truth._ **

**_As much alike as we are, we are still so different.  What is important to me is not important to you, and vice versa.  I will not stifle you, Freddie- and I will not come between the people in your life that you treasured the most. And were I to stay, that is exactly what would happen. We both know it's true. For you are a free spirit- and jealousy is no stranger to me. It would come down to a choice much like the one I have to make: me, or your whole world. And I cannot ask you to surrender everything you enjoy, everything you've worked for, just to make some twenty-year-old girl smile. That would not be fair to you or anyone else. You would be so unhappy- and I love you too much to make you unhappy._ **

**_I'm not asking you to understand. All I ask of you now, is that, in case I ever cross your mind somewhere down the line, you forgive me. And please, please, my prince, don't lose your head. For your own sake. I couldn't bear to see you tread the same path as before._ **

**_I close this note with my undying affection, an Eskimo kiss- and the hope that perhaps goodbye doesn't mean forever._ **

**_Take care, my beautiful prince._ **

**_From your stray kitten, the angel with broken wings, and Miss Evelyn Dubroc, a.k.a._ **  
**_Julia Samuels_ **

**_P.S. I think we hit 200 kisses this morning. Maybe more. I lost count long ago._ **

My hands shaking, I slid the letter into a cream-colored envelope and sealed it.  On the back I wrote "For Freddie," under which I put a few x's and o's the way he might do.  It was a feeble attempt at playfulness- but I felt so low, I was grasping at anything.

The clock said 11:25.

Thirty-five minutes left.  I got into position.

I sat on the sofa, one hand on my backpack, the other almost psychotically rubbing Oscar's fur while the Relic lay dormant in my lap.  The minutes passed. 

11:26.

11:27.

11:28.

I was losing my mind to anxiety.  I had even forgotten I still didn't know where I'd put the Magic Mirror.  At the moment, my Android's whereabouts were extremely unimportant to me.

_Just get this whole f---ing thing over with, you big fat m-----f-----s._

And then I almost had a stroke.

_BRRRRING BRRRRING_

I opened my eyes with a gasp.

__BRRRRING BRRRRING_ _

That wasn't the Relic.

Clutching at my heart, I hurried to Freddie's phone.  Very slowly, afraid of almost any voice I might conceivably hear on the other end, I picked up the receiver.  _Maybe this'll be Joe confirming their date on Friday night- or was it Saturday?  Oh, well, he'll know._

"Yes?" I squeaked, heart in my mouth.

I was met with a silky soft voice that I knew and loved like nothing else in this world: "That you there, Julia?"

I gulped.  "...Freddie?"

"Who else?" he crooned.

That voice.  Oh, God, that sweet, bouncy, auditory torture.  I couldn't stand it.  I broke into hard, silent weeping.  _Why doesn't somebody just put a gun to my head already, and put me out of my misery._

All the same, I held the phone as close to my ear as possible, tears trickling down my nose.  Hopefully he wouldn't hear my sobs.  "What- what's wrong?"

"Nothing, dear!  Just wanted to make sure you're still there, I'm about to send Rudy your way."

"Send Rudy?" I breathed, then remembered Freddie wanted me there to watch.  What for?  He'd be seeing David tonight...

"Yes!" Then Freddie hesitated.  "Darling, are you all right?"

"Mm-hm," I managed.  "I'm- I'm great, how are you?"

"I'll feel a lot better once I find out what's making you sound so strange."

I closed my eyes, tried to regulate my breathing.  "I'm fine, I promise."

"Mm," he said.  "We shall see, I suppose.  So are you still coming?"

I looked at the clock.  11:29.  I squinted and wiped my eyes of tears.  My exhausted, emotionally fricasseed heart thumped with one last weak hope.  Yes, I'd told Mary and myself I was leaving.  But maybe... just maybe...

"Can Rudy make in thirty minutes, tops?"

"I'll have him drive like the devil himself were after him.  In fact, go now, Rudy!"  I could almost see him waving Rudy out of Wessex.  I couldn't help but smile.  Then Freddie paused and asked,   "Why?"

"Because he has to."  I blinked back a second wave.  "Freddie?"

"Yes, angel?"

"Tell- tell me you love me."

Freddie didn't hesitate.  "I love you, darling.  You know that."

I smiled a trembling, lovesick smile.  "And I love you, Freddie.  I always will.  Don't ever, ever forget that."

He started to sound a little perplexed.  "Julia, what's wrong?"

But I didn't answer him.  "In case I don't catch you- goodbye, my prince.  And- give my regards to Phyl-"

"What?"

"Nothing."  I swallowed.  "Good bye, Freddie, for now- and the best of luck!"

"Ju-"

_Click._

I took a deep breath, pulling out the Polaroid of our kiss.  My hands shook a little harder as I stared intently at it.  That thick hair, those closed, almond-shaped eyes, those sweet lips, those strong hands, gripping me so tightly.

The time was 11:31.  Rudy could pull this off.  He'd have to drive like a bat out of hell, and traffic would have to be clear- but by God, regardless of Dr. C, Time, and all the things Mary and I had discussed, if he showed up before noon...

_Come quickly, Rudy- save me from myself!  Please! There's only thirty minutes left- and that's how long it takes to drive from Wessex!  Hurry!  
_

It was a race now- a literal race against Time.  And it all depended on Freddie's chauffeur.


	79. The Last Seven Minutes

It was now 11:53, according to my watch; I still hadn't found the Magic Mirror, even though I had searched in every nook where it might possibly have settled.  At this point, though, I couldn't care less where it went.  I was keeping too close a watch on the road, eyes peeled for the Rolls-Royce to come save me from a decision I knew deep down in my heart that I would regret.  _Everybody deserves a chance_ , I kept saying to myself, combating the ubiquitous, choking vines that had sprouted from Dr. C's wretched seeds of doubt. 

At the same time, I couldn't see this ending any other way.  It was just like in my dream, when I chose the Relic; I never had the chance to see what would happen had I jumped in after Freddie instead. Not that dreams predicted the future, of course.  Perhaps the products of REM did indeed provide a little insight into the soul's inner troubles, but where the future was concerned, dreams were just as valid in their predictions as fortune cookies.

Only K and C knew how this would end.  And only after I made my decision, would I know as well.

I turned away from the upstairs window, came back down.  I wasn't crying any longer.   My eyes were still a little red, but I had stopped crying for now.  Tears never did me any good; and that was just as true today as ever before. 

Whatever the outcome, I was ready. I had already remade Freddie's bed, and took care of whatever untidiness remained.  In one hand I held the Relic, in the other I had my goodbye letter.  My journal, Polaroid, and Passport were in my backpack, along with a couple of unfinished, petty assignments.  Didn't that just figure. Two weeks off from university, and I had spent none of it in finishing my homework.

The lovely earrings Rudy had given me were in their velvet pouch on top of my ivory white dress in the spare room.  I was leaving them in London.  As beautiful as these and all the other gifts had been, I had already made up my mind I would take nothing back home.  Too many people stole from Freddie, took advantage of his generosity.  I would not join their ranks, or give Freddie the reason to align me with them, which was a high risk if I returned home with anything he had given me.

Oscar wouldn't let me out of his sight.  All the way down the stairs he strutted so close against my leg he nearly tripped me.  With a sigh, I knelt down.

"Why are you so underfoot today?" I asked him.  "If you're lonely, I can put you outside, all your friends are out there."

But Oscar mewed and walked around me in a tight circle, pressing his head close as he moved.  Call me crazy, but the green eyes seemed pleading when they looked up at me. 

_He knows_ , I said to myself.  _My imagination might be running away with me, but I really think Oscar knows something big is about to happen.  
_

I scratched behind his ears, coaxing a soft, vibrating purr from the orange tabby's throat.  "Do you want me to stay?" I murmured.  "Is that what you want, baby?"

I picked him up and cradled him in my arms, rubbing his soft white tummy.  With a sigh, I nodded.  "I'll miss you, you old slob.  It just won't be the same, waking up in the morning without sneezing because of your furry arse two inches away from my nose."

I set Oscar down again and looked around the flat.  It was true.  I'd miss everything about this place.  There were so many memories made within these four walls- most of them sweet, a few that were truly hideous, but all unforgettable.  And I had covered so much ground in just two weeks.  It seemed I'd been everywhere-  London, Las Vegas, New York City, even a brief lark on Solsbury Hill- and done everything.  And yet, I felt I'd still only scratched the surface, explored only the tip of the iceberg. 

It was strange; while I instinctively knew my days in 1977 were drawing to an inevitable close, somehow I also had this feeling that my time with Freddie was anything but over.  I couldn't explain it- save that I perhaps was only trying to rationalize leaving the one man I had ever given the power to break my heart.  Would I break his by leaving?  Not according to Dr. C- although mine was already broken again and I had not yet even left.

_He could have been lying_ , I said to myself again.  _I promised Mary, and he is meeting David tonight, but I could be wrong- and C could have been lying.  Oh, God.  If only there was a way to know!_

"Hurry, up, Rudy," I whispered shakily.  "You have five minutes."

So saying, I put the letter on the piano, leaning it against Yin and Yang.  Nervously I drew my Polaroid out, stared at it so hard I felt myself go cross-eyed for a second.  Then I set the picture on the piano's music rest, and sat down on the bench.

After a moment, my eyes still on the picture, I began to tap out the melody to the "Julia Song."  Quietly I wondered what the words would become now that I was the inspiration for what once was called "Jealousy."  I sang the old lyrics aloud, my voice whispery with emotion:

_Oh, how wrong can you be?_   
_Oh, to fall in love_   
_Was my very first mistake._   
_How was I to know_   
_I was far too much in love to see?_   
_Oh..._

_Jealousy, look at me now_   
_Jealousy, you got me somehow_   
_You gave me no warning,_   
_Took me by surprise._   
_Jealousy, you led me on._   
_You couldn't lose, you couldn't fail;_   
_You had suspicion on my trail._   
_How, how, how? All my jealousy-_   
_I wasn't man enough to let you hurt my pride;_   
_Now I'm only left with my own jealousy._

_Oh how strong can you be  
With matters of the heart?  
Life is much too short  
To while away with tears.  
If only you could see  
Just what you do to me..._  
  
_Jealousy, you tripped me up._  
 _Jealousy, you brought me down._  
 _You bring me sorrow, you cause me pain._  
 _Jealousy, when will you let go?_  
 _Gotta hold of my possessive mind,_  
 _Turned me into a jeal-_

I stopped singing, took my hands off the keys.  
  
_Wait a second._

I hadn't really thought about the words too much before now.  They were tragically beautiful, of course- I didn't see them as anything less than gorgeous.  And in efforts to explain Freddie, I used to contemplate what had happened to conjure them in the first place.  "Love of My Life" was for Mary, and either "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" or "You Take My Breath Away" belonged to David (I'm inclined to believe it was the former, though). However, no one ever made any speculations about this song, and anyway, Freddie would dismiss every inquiry about song meanings with the same ambiguous answer: "If you see it, then it's there." 

Even its position on _Jazz_ seemed to make it a less outstanding, though still lovely, sort of afterthought- almost a joke, if you will.  It was situated between "Fat-Bottomed Girls" and "Bicycle Race"- two obnoxiously unromantic songs that totally eclipsed the sweet melancholy that separated them.  There were no clues as to who, or what, or why- and without clues, there was nowhere to go as far as explanation is concerned.  So "Jealousy" was always a losing battle.

But at that moment, something in the lyrics affected me like it never had before.  I couldn't put my finger on it for the life of me.  All I knew was it felt familiar.

And it felt personal.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance to find out what was bothering me.  My thoughts were interrupted...

_Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP..._

The final call.

My tracker was blue.  I looked at my watch.  11:57.  I broke into a cold sweat.  _THEY'RE EARLY!_

The Relic still ringing, I ran to the window and looked wildly for the Silver Shadow, but the roads were clear.  Rudy still thought he had three minutes.  These guys were so tricky, calling early, they promised me I had until noon!  Three minutes can make all the difference in the world!  Oh, God, what to do, what to do?

But I knew the answer to that.  I didn't like the answer, but there wasn't much I could do about it.  In fact, there was nothing I could do about it- but I wouldn't realize that until later.  What mattered was now.

And now, I chose.

At the last second, I pushed the green button.

"Hello," I croaked.

"Julia?" K sounded unsure.

"Yes."

"I guess you've made your choice," C cut in quickly.  "Or else you wouldn't have picked up."

"Yeah.  I- guess I did."  I brushed a single tear off my cheek.

"Steve, you were right; she is a bright one," C said approvingly.  "Okay, Julia, get ready, we're locking onto your loc-"

"C, wait," I gasped.  I had an idea.  One last hope had struck.

He huffed.  "There's no time for this."

I didn't care.  Now I knew.  There was a way to find out if he was lying to me.  It was morbid, and sad, and horrible, but it would tell me everything- tell me whether a new future had dawned because of the past fourteen days. 

"C, tell me when Freddie died."

C blinked.  "When... Freddie Mercury died?"

"Yeah," I nodded impatiently. 

"Why?  Are you gonna tell him?"

"NO!  He's not even here right now!  I just need to know!"

"Okay, fine!" K chimed in.  "I'll look it up, one second."

_The Butterfly Effect,_ I told myself, crossing my fingers.  _Change one thing in one person's life, you change the world.  Our lives are the results of irreversible choices we make.  Surely he's going to live longer, if I've made any impact!  I mean, considering Vegas, Melancholy Blues, the Promise- just me even speaking to him, breathing the same air, when I was never meant to be there!  Surely things have changed!_

At last K spoke up.  "Okay.  It says here that, um..."

I wanted to scream.  Now was not the time to be sluggish.  _OUT WITH IT, K!  OUR LIVES DEPEND ON IT!_

"He died," K announced, "in 19- yeah.  1991.  24th of November, 1991."

I closed my eyes, sank to the floor.

_No.  Oh, Sweet Jesus, no..._

Nothing had changed.  New Freddie was still Old Freddie, the product of the same bad decisions, the same empty life, the same beautiful but tragic soul.  The rich legacy, the rampant hedonism, the wild and crazy guy with a shy interior, whose eyes seemed to cry out from within for a little understanding.  I had made no impact whatsoever.

And our love, Freddie's and mine, was doomed.

_Oh, God, help me- and Freddie, my sweet prince, my Mr. J, and love of **my** life..._

_Forgive me for what I'm about to do.  
_

"Julia?" C spurred.  "You there?"

I opened my eyes and set my jaw.

"Get me out of here." 

C breathed a sigh of relief.  "We've already locked on.  It's all on you, Stu."

I could feel new tears rising up under my lids. "Get me out now.  Quick."

"We're working on it!  The light should be green."

I looked down.  My eyes were already quite watery but I could see the light change to lime green.  "Should I push it yet?"

"Not till you feel the shocks.  Like before.  This may hurt a little worse than before."

"Probably not," I murmured.  "I've done an awful lot of hurting lately.  This can't be any w-"

That's when the shocks coursed through me, coming from the tracker.  I screamed, clenching the Relic for dear life.  Too late I realized I would be leaving my lost Magic Mirror here in the past, but honestly, I didn't feel like getting upset.  My flesh was too busy searing with electric pain.

"Push it!" K called.  "Now!"

And the moment I forced my aching fingers to push the button behind the tracker, I heard something.

It was the front door.

Opening.

11:59 A.M.

Rudy had arrived.

At the top of my lungs, I shouted a panicked "NO, NO, STOP-"

And then the world opened up from below and swallowed me in a dark nothingness.


	80. Welcome Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal here. Stay with me, guys. This chapter is going to be hard. Just trust me.

It was like being underwater, being deep under water, like in those bottomless parts of the ocean where no light can reach, where the pressure itself is enough to crush a body into oblivion.  Were I conscious of the darkness, I would have been terrified, but my mind and body were one in absence.  I felt nothing.  I knew nothing.  I was nothing.  

And then, without warning, I started hurtling back toward the surface.  

Slowly, slowly, my senses returned, starting with my hands.  I felt something warm around one of them, like somebody was holding it tightly with both of their own.  The sensations crept up my limbs, bit by bit.  There were goosebumps on my arms; it was cold in the room.  A breeze blew down across my face and made my eyelids flutter.  I swallowed.  My throat was dry- and something plastic and painful had been forced down it.

Then, I heard broken voices drift limply into my ears.  A worried, low woman's voice.  "...You hear me, sweetheart?"

Blankly I thought about the voice.  After a moment, I recognized it to be that of my mother.  

Wait.  My mother?  What- what was she doing down here?  How did she get into the base?  It was a secret!  I had to be hallucinating.  

She kept trying to coax me awake.  "Julia?  Hey, Goose.  We're here, and we love you, can you hear us?  Can you-"

I moved my head a little, an attempt to nod.  My mother's worry turned into euphoria.  "Ian... Ian, look!  She's coming around!"

Now a somewhat more nasal tenor voice, soft with concern but pumped with hope, joined her.  "Julia!  Hey, sweetie.  Come on, open your eyes."

My dad was there, too?  What kind of family party was this?  All I needed now was for my brother Scott to join in, and the scene would be complete.

"Is she waking up?" _Ah, right on cue, Scott!_   "Hey, sis!  Hey!"

"Not so loud, Scott, come on," my mother chided, still gently slapping my wrist.  "She's been out for three days, she doesn't need anybody yelling at her."

That sounded normal, all right.  

I was back home.  Good old 2017.  That much I knew, that much of my brain was operational.  I was aware, but my emotions remained at a stand-still.  All I was concerned with doing right was pulling out of this vegetative state. 

With my family cheering me on all at once, I began to stir.  I heard my dad call for some doctor to attend to me.  I wiggled my toes, lifted my hands, which were strangely so heavy at the moment.  The transport to 1977 hadn't been nearly this taxing.  Weird.  

All of a sudden there were many other voices blabbering on all around me while unfamiliar hands wrapped in latex manipulated and contorted me in ways I would have resisted had I been myself.  

Then something my mother had said hit me: "She's been out for three days."

_Three days?_

Where was I?

At last, I had the strength and the courage to open my bleary eyes- which were immediately burned by the fluorescent lights above and all around.  Masked faces were peering down at me, checking my pulse, my blood pressure, my respiration, my whatever else they had to check. 

Oh.  I was in a hospital.

A face with two blue eyes under rather cocky-looking eyebrows and above a surgical mask leaned over me.  "Hi, there," he said.  His youngish voice was rather brisk, no-nonsense, very American.  "How're you feeling?"

I tried to speak, but the tube in my throat kept getting in the way.  So a nurse's hand reached in and took hold of the exposed end- which, I found to my mounting horror, came out of my nose.

"Okay, honey," Blue Eyes said.  "Just hold on, shut your eyes.  This won't be fun."

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to scream while the nurse pulled the long plastic tube through my left nostril.  Oh, God, that stung.  I was still so completely out of it, but I knew pain from pain.  My dry lips moved, silently cried out one word, the most comforting word to salve my hurt, my confusion.

"She's doing that lip thing again," someone noted- someone that sounded like Dr. C.  

"What's she saying?" asked the guy fiddling with my IV.  

"It's that same word, she kept doing that while she was asleep,"  Tube Nurse said.  

Above the din all around me I heard my father call, "Is she okay?"

"She's still disoriented, she'll have to stay here another day at least," IV Guy replied.  

There was so much happening around me right now, and I did not have the proper mental facilities to deal with it.  The nose tube was out of my throat, so I could breathe on my own again. I was too exhausted for real questions yet, too drained for feelings except those of pain and cold and fatigue.  And still my lips kept forming that word.  I wasn't even really putting any brain power into it, it was psychosomatic, like a reflex, an immediate response that my body innately knew would soothe me.   And so I repeated it, hand reaching out at the air, until my eyes closed again under the sedative once more being pumped into my veins.  

The last thing I saw was those blue eyes hovering just over my face, as he waved and said gently, "See you in the morning."  

I replied with the same voiceless word, then my eyes shut for another twelve hours.

_...Freddie..._

********************************************************************************************

By the next morning I felt well enough to sit up.  I was still hooked up to an IV and various other formidable-looking machines, but I was much more mobile- and sentient.  Sleep, real sleep, works wonders.

I had set up house here in a private room at the hospital a stone's throw from my university.  I sat alone in my room, eating from a nasty cherry-flavored Jell-O cup and watching _Futurama_ on the complimentary TV (this hospital was great; it even hooked up to my Netflix account), waiting for my family to come visit me in a little while. 

I was back home, right where I really belonged in the long run.  I kept telling myself that.  But it didn't feel like home.  I didn't really feel anything at all, honestly.  I couldn't even muster a laugh or a politely amused smile whenever Zoidberg scuttled across the flat screen.  I just felt empty, rather cold inside, with no place to harbor happiness or agony or sorrow or fear.  The doctor had said I was still in a kind of shock, and that the medication I was being given tended to suppress the activities found in the paleomammalian cortex (say that three times fast), so I was to expect to feel a little stoic for at least another week.

All the same, I was still rather disturbed at myself.  It was as though my soul was still in suspended animation, and they had yet to reinstall it in my body.  Even more unsettling, every time I tried to lose myself in memories of the last two weeks, it seemed that they were so strongly tied to my emotions that I currently couldn't remember much of anything except for the concrete minutia I hadn't associated with any really powerful feelings, like cars or the weather.  

Worse still, I was not allowed to look at or handle any Queen paraphernalia while in the hospital, under Dr. C's orders.  That, I did not understand.  Surely looking at pictures of Freddie would make me feel better.  They always would in the past.

I wanted to see Dr. C and Dr. K right away.  No one still had told me what, if anything, had gone wrong with T-Rod. Granted, I'd only been awake a few minutes last night and just the last hour that morning, but I had to know. My morning nurse had been kind enough to send for K, and now I was blankly wondering to myself who would reach me first- my family, or guys who could provide me answers.

There was a knock at the door, and before I could respond, Nurse Sanjay traipsed back in, iPad clenched in her hand.  

"Hello again, Miss Julia," she said cheerily.  "You're looking so much better already."

"Thanks," I croaked, muting the television.  'But I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be too hard."

"You're a fast healer, you're very lucky," she said approvingly, then commenced the run-down of my physical condition.  Once she finished, she tapped everything down.  

"Your numbers look good," she announced. "White blood cell count's good, your pulse, blood pressure's normal- your hormone levels, let's see.  Progesterone and estrogen levels are a little on the high side- are you currently at the ovulation stage in your cycle?"

I winced.  I never liked talking about these things.  "I don't know, my body doesn't follow a predictable cycle.  I'm one of those weirdies, so maybe."

She nodded.  "It's more than likely you're just ovulating, nothing too major.  For the most part, you seem on the right track.  We'll just keep an eye on you for the next twelve hours, and then you'll be free to go if you stay stable, okay?"

"Nurse Sanjay, what happened?" I asked a little impatiently.

She looked up.  "What's that?"

"What happened to me?  Why did I black out for three days?"

She frowned.  "They told me it was because of the study."

I swallowed.  "What about the study?"

"The one you volunteered for.  I think it was some kind of VR thing or- don't you remember?"

I blinked.  "Not... really?  I mean, I remember the experiment, but- but- why- what happened?"

Dr. Sanjay looked me over.  "Perhaps we need to run a brain scan too, see if there's been any internal damage to the-"

"Please tell me what happened," I interrupted her, then pointed at my bare left hand.  "Also, what happened to my ring?"

"Your ring?"

"I was wearing a ring.  It's gone now.  Where did it go?"

The poor lady opened her mouth, most likely about to tell me she hadn't the faintest idea what I was on about when another thirty-something in a luxurious leather overcoat ( _Oh, yeah, it's early December again_ ) entered the room without knocking.  I squinted, trying to make out his face, but my parents had custody of my contacts, as well as my backpack.  Maybe they were holding on to my wedding ring, too.  I wondered briefly if they knew it even _was_ a wedding ring at one point.

"There she is," the man declared pleasantly.  "Hello, Miss Guinea Pig."

I squinted harder.  "Hi?"

"We met yesterday," he said.  After a moment I recognized his voice.  It was that same brisk, Hoosier accent from when I woke up yesterday evening.

"You watched them pull the thing out of my nose," I said blankly.

"Hey, you do remember!" he said.  "It's called a cannula, by the way.  But actually, we sort of met even earlier than that. I watched you just walk on into that machine."

"You did?"

"Mm-hm.  You could say that the TRDS-14K2 is kind of my baby.  I designed her.  I was up there with the guys in the observatory."

He was discussing things that happened all of two weeks ago.  I struggled to remember.  "In the... fishbowl?"

He laughed, his eyes sort of disappearing into his face while he smiled.  "It did kinda look like a fishbowl, didn't it?  All of us crammed up there, too close for comfort.  But anyway, I just came to say, Miss Julia- may I call you Jules?"

"Sure."  _That's actually a shortened version of my name, after all.  It's not like you want to call me Miss Kitty Cute-Ass- or Harley Quinn.  I mean, who in their right mind does that?_

"Jules, I'm very proud someone like you was the first to take her for a spin, and come back in one piece.You didn't even look scared."

I shrugged.  "So, uh- what exactly are you here about, Mr.-?"  I tried to make out the scribbles on his visitor name badge.

"Stuart," he replied quickly, putting his hand forward.  "Call me Dr. Stuart, or just plain Stuart."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Plain Stuart."

He hesitated, then said, "My last name is Preus- but don't call me that unless you're going to pronounce it properly.  It's hit or miss with everyone.  It's not 'pree-us,' like the car my TA drives, it's 'proyse.'"

"Stuart Preus, as in Rolls-Royce," I repeated- then felt a strange jab in my heart.  That was as close to an emotional response as I had had so far.  When I thought Rolls-Royce, I thought Rudy, driving that Rolls-Royce- with me sitting in it- with Freddie.

With Freddie Mercury.  With my prince.  My black-eyed Persian prince.

I waited for the emotional tsunami I craved, but none came.  It wasn't that I had forgotten, I just wasn't responding the way I wanted.  _Boy, is this the mother of all delayed reactions.  When it finally does come around, I may downright explode.  Oh, God, I hate meds._

"You got it," he nodded.  "No, I just came to check on you, see how you were doing.  I'm catching a plane back to Jersey at noon, but I had to stop and see you before heading home.  We were so worried about you, when we opened up the hatch, saw you convulsing that way-"

"Convulsing?  I had a seizure?"

"Mm-hm.  Epileptic seizure," Nurse Sanjay murmured absently.  "Pretty serious one, too.  You could have died."

I turned to Nurse Sanjay, who was still taking readings.  "But I don't have epilepsy."

Before she could answer, there was another knock. The muffled voices outside the door I knew far too well.  "Come on in," I called.  

Seconds later, there stood C and K.  The last time I saw Dr. K, it was forty years ago in Las Vegas and he had a joint between his teeth.  I wanted to reminisce with him about our adventure aboard the Mother Ship, ask him about what he thought of the original Mark Zuckerberg, anything else he might possibly remember from that hilarious summer night.  But I remained silent.

"Oh," Dr. C seemed to shrink back a little.  "I didn't know you were still in town, Dr. Proose."

My eyes lowered, afraid to look at Stuart's expression; his deep, weary sigh said enough in and of itself. _I suppose Dr. C is on the "miss" list then._

"I was about to head back home, just wanted to see this one before I did," he said, turning back to me.  "By the way, how hard did those guys have to sell you my little machine?"

I almost smiled.  "Not hard.  I just wanted twenty points."

"Points?"

"In the gradebook."

He blinked.  "That's _it_?"

"I'm pretty easy.  I just wanted to keep a 4.0.  I didn't think- that- everything that happened, would happen."

"Jules, with all due respect, you got gypped."

K cleared his throat nervously.  "We have every intention of reimbursing her-"

But Stuart wasn't listening.  Suddenly he reached into his coat's inside pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed to me.  "Here's my phone number at the university, and this-"  he turned it over, and on the gray underside he wrote down another number.  "This is my personal cell.  Call me anytime if you need anything."

"But you're all the way out in New Jersey," I murmured.  

"So what?  I'm somewhere new every day.  Distance is no hitch.  Let's just say, I'm- a man of many means."  

This time I managed to smile.  "Thanks, Stuart."

He waved his hands as if to say "Pleasure's all mine."  "Now, gentlemen, I'll let you say what you're going to say.  Have to head back home."  

"You didn't," C said carefully, "um, already tell her, did you?"

"Tim, I read the conditions backwards and forwards.  I can't say a word that would conflict with yours, so I won't say anything.  She's all yours."  Then he again turned to me, and looked me over.

"You're cute, Jules," Stuart remarked at last.  "Don't pass up the call.  I mean it.  Anything at all, just let me know.  It's the very least I can do.  Goodbye now."

I nodded. "Bye-bye."

And with that, Dr. Stuart Preus disappeared out the door, with Nurse Sanjay in tow.  Deep down I had a premonition that this was not the last I'd seen of him.  

"Glad to be back, Julia?" K asked.

I shrugged.  "Tell you when I get my feelings back in a week."

"Fair enough.  Aren't you feeling anything at all?"

"Just one thing," I replied.  "Pretty damn confused."

"In what way?" K asked.  

"What's all this about epileptic seizures, and- and convulsions?"

"Why, that's what you had," C said.  "Extreme seizure caused by epilepsy.  It's right here in the doctor's report-"

"Guys, you don't seem to understand, I don't have epilepsy-"

"Well, you do now," he snapped back.  "It's a shame we didn't know about it before, or else we wouldn't have let you volunteer."

"Does time travel worsen epilepsy or something?"

C frowned.  "Time travel, Julia?"

"Yes, time travel," I repeated.  Why was he looking at me like I was discussing some foreign concept?  

C traded glances with K (who, strangely, looked ever so guilty), and sighed.  "Okay, I guess we are going to have to go through it all over again."

I looked at them both, my confusion mounting ever higher.

C sat down on the side of my bed, and explained.  "You were the guinea pig, not of a time machine experiment, but an intense new kind of VR that employs a majority of your body's energy and brain waves to create a projection so lifelike that it can indeed be mistaken for reality."

I paused a moment, letting it sink in.  "Wait, what?"

"T-Rod," C repeated laconically, "is a virtual reality machine, not a time machine."

"You told me it was a time machine!  You wanted to send me to Saul Alinsky-"

"We wanted you to meet a projection of Saul Alinsky, but it seems that there was so much of your brain given over to studying that buck-toothed fruitcake, that you actually diverted, rearranged the projection and created a world of your own.  Your own private retro Matrix."

Matrix?  My heart grew icy.  So every moment with Freddie, talking to him, laughing with him, singing with him, making love to him...

Was it all in my head?

"Why did it take you so long to pull me out then?" I challenged him.

"We monitored your brain activity all throughout.  There weren't very many points at which we could reach you, Julia, you got so sucked into your own brain.  We were really only able to get to you when you weren't around him, that's when the pull was strongest.  You were only under for two hours- but any longer, and you might never have come back.  When we pulled the plug on your little La-La Land, you had a seizure."

I shook my head, covering my ears.  "This is such baloney.  This is all so wrong."

"Oh, is it?"

"I can show you!  All the things I took down in my journal-"

"Your log has been confiscated and reviewed," C said coldly.  "All we found were fantasies and wishful thinking about some dead guy you will never meet."

"And I also- there was a fake Passport-"

"I saw no Passport," C interrupted me.  "Steve, did you see any Passport in her backpack?"

K's eyes were focused on his shoes as he shrugged quietly.

And then I remembered again.  

"I saw you, K," I declared.  "I saw you with my own eyes, in your twenties, smoking weed, driving me and 'Mark' around in that beat up old truck.  The Mother Ship, you called it!  You were a witness at my-"

"Hallucinations," C cut me off.  "Insertion of familiar objects and people to normalize the image.  Very typical. Have you any real, concrete evidence that you were in 1977?  If you do, maybe I'll believe you.  Maybe a picture on your phone?  A souvenir?"

I began to feel nauseous. I had pictures, so many pictures, from those two weeks, in my Android- which I had so carelessly and stupidly left behind because I couldn't find it right off.  All the gifts, all the clothes and everything, I had left in yesteryear because I didn't want Freddie to consider me a thief. Had I really no proof? 

WHERE WAS MY RING?

"Have you anything like that?" C asked again, so smugly I wanted to slap him.

I wanted to fly out of bed at him, screaming, fists swinging, feet kicking, teeth biting, but I didn't.  I hadn't the energy or the emotion.  Or the actual faith.

Virtual reality?

All a fake?

It couldn't be true.

But then, again, where was my proof?  

"K," I said softly, plaintively.  "Steve.  My friend.  Tell me he's lying.  Tell me I changed anything.  I shouldn't have been there with you, but I was!  It was real, wasn't it?  K?"

K still wouldn't look at me.  He folded his arms and seemed to shrink under C's hard stare.  And finally, he spoke, and said something that hit me a little harder than it had before.

"There is nothing that happens," he whispered slowly, "that isn't supposed to happen.  Otherwise, it wouldn't happen."

C and K said a couple other things to me, but I was in too much of a daze to hear them.  K's words kept ringing in my head.  In vain I tried to resurrect Freddie's face behind my eyes, but it was too fuzzy, too hard to do.  I wanted my feelings back.  I wanted to scream, to weep, to raise hell, but I only sat there and took it, clenching Stuart's card between my fingers. 

I would call him as soon as he got home from the airport.  Maybe he would have a different story.

A few minutes after C and K left, my family appeared.  It was nice to see them, for I had missed them a great deal, whether for two weeks or two hours.  But my heart wasn't in it.  My soul was in too much turmoil for me to mean anything more than perfunctory politeness when I smiled at my dad, or kissed my mother, or nudged Scott- for all I really wanted right there, right then, was to be in the arms of my prince just once more.  

It couldn't have all just been some grand illusion.

Could it?


	81. Simple Twists of Fate

"Honey, that's why you never sign anything on blind faith," my dad told me via hands-free Bluetooth.  "There's always some sort of string that ties your hands, where these tests are concerned."

"I know, Dad, I'm sorry," I sighed, and tried not to roll my eyes.  I loved my dad, but it seemed he really never ceased to be a lawyer; by blind faith, he was referring to all the waivers and release documents I had signed, which completely prevented him from going after Dr. C or Stuart or anyone else remotely involved in the T-Rod Incident (as it would come to be known).

Scott tapped me on the shoulder from the back seat once the phone call ended, and tried to stick his phone in my face.  "Hey, Chris, look at this!"

I shook my head, not even turning around to meet my brother's eyes.  "Show me later."

"But it's that new YTP from Al-"

"I won't find it funny right now, Scott," I said.  "Show me later when these meds have worn off- or the shock, or whatever the hell this is."

My mother shot me a look of surprise, and I corrected myself.  "I'm sorry- whatever the _heck_ this is."

We were on our way back from the hospital.  Since my condition had remained stable all day, I was discharged that night as promised.  However, I was not permitted to drive myself home, as my reflexes and thought processes still hadn't completely recovered, so I rode the whole long way back with my mother and brother.  Dad was in a separate car; he had driven straight from work to come see me and follow us home. 

She sighed and nodded.  "Epilepsy.  How strange.  There's no history of epilepsy in our family."

"I don't think it's epilepsy, Mom.  I mean, doctors get it wrong sometimes.  They didn't even give me any seizure medications to keep taking."

"I hope not.  I mean, I hope it's not epilepsy."  She thought a moment.  "That intense of a virtual reality, though, for that long- it's amazing to me you recovered as quickly as you did.  No brain damage or anything.  You're like Wolverine."

Now my mother was half talking to me, and half to herself.  "Oh, Lord, I hate VR.  I hate all this technology, back then when I was growing up we didn't have all these screens, these backlights, screw with your head.  Julia, we were so worried about you, why didn't you at least let us know?  Call us or something?"

"I tried to, but my Magic M- uh, my phone's signal kind of died on me.  By the way, do you have it?"

"Have what?"

"My phone."

My mother frowned.  "You lost it?"

"I don't know.  Maybe C and K have it.  They took my ring, maybe they took my phone."

"What ring?"

"Or maybe there was no ring in the first place."

"Julia, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know," I sighed, rubbing my face wearily.  "I don't even know why I did it at all."

"You did it for grades, is what they told me."

"Mm-hm.  I forgot about these, uh- research studies we had to sign up for, worth a good portion of the grade.  Then Dr. K-"

"Who's Dr. K?" Scott interrupted.  "Was that the creepy one who talked like a pedo stoner?"

"Scott, come on," my mother groaned. 

But I nodded my head.  "Dr. Kurzweil.  He's not anymore, though.  I mean, he is not and was never a pedo, never, but he was a stoner once.  I think.  It would make sense if he did.  But anyway- he was the one who said I'd get full credit for those studies if I took part in the experiment- the test."

"You poor thing, you didn't have to go through all that.  I mean, of course it's important to keep your grades good, but- not to that extreme!"

I nodded slowly.  "I won't do it ever again, I promise.  I wouldn't have volunteered in the first place, if I had known it was VR."

"You sound so weird, Chris," Scott said bluntly.

I looked back.  "Do I?"

"Yeah, like you're- you're talking all British and stuff.  You said 'fust place,' and 'Vee-ah.'"

"Oh," I swallowed.  "Sorry." 

Tomorrow I would have to send in for a replacement phone; I had ordered my original LG off the online store, so I would probably have to wait before it came in and I could transfer my old number to the new SIM. 

It went awkwardly quiet for a minute or two.  My mother reached over and turned on the radio, switching it to my favorite classic rock station.  A certain song had just begun playing.  She smiled at me for affirmation, while the hair at the back of my neck stood up- and my hands shook.

_Stomp-Stomp-CLAP._

_Stomp-Stomp-CLAP._

_Stomp-St-_

I turned off the music, quickly before I could hear that voice.

My mother looked at me strangely.  "Why did you do that?"

"C said I shouldn't listen to that stuff," I whispered, trying to suppress the images of that fourth day, me and fourteen other people stomping away in the studio, memories valiantly trying to rise past this barrier around my soul, desperately trying to melt the ice in which it was cased.  They seemed so real, those memories, even in retrospect, but I would not be fooled again. 

"He meant, just while you were at the hospital.  If it makes you feel better, please let it play."

"No," I shook my head.  "I think it's good advice.  Besides, I've been, um- obsessing over them for long enough, it's time I moved on."

She looked me over, disturbed by the chill in my voice. 

"When I get home, if nobody minds," I announced to no one in particular, "I am going to take a nice hot shower, make myself a cup of tea, and box up a few things and put them in storage."

"Goose," my mother urged.  "You just got out of the hospital.  Rest."

"I won't be able to rest until I get those things out of sight," I murmured. 

"Whatcha gonna pack up?" Scott asked.

"Oh, just little dumb things.  Certain magazines, books, a bunch of records, you know.  And the pictures and videos, of course.  Can't forget those."  _I also may have to unfollow those Queen spam accounts on Instagram.  The less of him around, the better off I'll be._

But my mother shook her head.  "Julia, no.  I'm pulling rank on this one.  It's nine o'clock now, it'll be at least ten when we get home.  You have an exam tomorrow morning in psychology-"

"I do?"  I blinked.  "But tomorrow is Satu- oh, yeah."  For I vaguely remembered griping about the injustice of the university system a week ago when I found out I had to drive all the way up to the school for one final semester exam scheduled on the Saturday before actual Finals Week.The only thing that made the concept tolerable was the subject.

"Yes.  So you are going home and getting your rest.  We'll see how you feel in the morning, see whether or not you need to be driven back up here."

"I'll be fine," I muttered. 

Then I reached over and turned the radio back on to hear Stevie Nicks warbling the chorus of "Gold Dust Woman" listened to that echo-y filter on her voice, the warped guitars and sparse drums as they created the image of a dim, undefined wasteland. I looked down at my lap, hands folded, mouthing the lyrics silently. She seemed to be asking the same questions I was asking myself.

_"Well, did she make you cry,_  
_Make you break down,_  
_Shatter your illusions of love?_  
_And is it over now?_  
_Do you know how_  
_To pick up the pieces and go home?_ "

_It was all in my head_ , I said to myself suddenly, more convinced now than I had been that morning. VR, VR, VR. That was almost all I'd heard today. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. _The only pieces to pick up are those of my own fractured brain._

Good God. What a joke to play on myself- what a ridiculous joke. Only in my dreams would he have even made eye contact with me. But Freddie Mercury wanting me- worse still, _loving_ me? Loving some twenty-year-old American _girl_ with bad eyes, messy hair, and a conscience? That wasn't even believable enough to fantasize about. The mere concept in itself was thoroughly laughable.

So why wasn't I at least relieved that I still had my virginity and my heart- or ashamed that I'd allowed myself to dream such vivid, extended dreams of losing both to Freddie Mercury?

We pulled to a brief halt at the stoplight, and my mother looked me over. She put her hand on my cheek, stroked my hair, looked at me that seemed to say she wanted to take away whatever was bothering me deep down inside- something I wasn't even able to fully sense yet.

To myself I said, _Well, this is one way to kill an obsession.  Seven years, it's taken me.  Seven years and a serious, life-threatening VR trip.  That's what it took.  Oh, well.  Whatever works, I suppose._

The light changed, and we merged onto the interstate _,_ homeward bound.It felt like I hadn't seen home in forever.  I really was back.  My future, my goals, my job, my mother and father, my brother, our little dog, Bowie, and my conure, Farnsworth.  All that was real and dear to me, was once more in my life, enfolding me in its warm, beautiful familiarity. 

I had exactly what I wanted.  I had my life back.

"How do you feel, sweetie?" My mother ventured carefully after a moment.

I pointed at the radio speakers, still emanating the hopeless, empty, unhappy music.

"Like that," I whispered.

*********************************************************************************************************************************

That night, I went straight to sleep, and woke early the next morning, alone in bed, completely untroubled by those magenta cliff/earthquake dreams that had so dominated my previous nights. 

I looked at the alarm clock, which read half-past six.  Just to do it, I slid my cold, bare feet back and forth under the covers, and sighed, almost sadly.  From one perspective, that was a good sign; my feelings were just now starting to wake up. From another, it was an odd thing to do, especially since my thoughts accompanying the action said, _It's cold this morning.  I never realized how much cozier the bed can be when someone else is in it with you..._

I felt alert enough to drive myself to school.  Mom of course fussed over me, bombarded me with "Are you sures" and "Please, please be carefuls," but she conceded.  After all, I was barely a week away from turning twenty years old (again), I was old enough to make those kinds of decisions. 

"Are you going to get your phone replaced after the test?" Dad asked me, handing me a cup of coffee after fixing it just the way I liked it.  I took a long, satisfied slurp.  Wow, he made good coffee.  Both my parents had been sweet enough to get up early with me, to allow us to chat over the news and the daily grind in the five minutes I had before leaving.

"Mmmm.  Actually, I was going to send in for another, buy the replacement online," I finally answered.  "Unless you think I should just hit the T-Mobile store on my way back and just do it that way."

"Maybe your phone will turn up this weekend," my mother suggested.  "You might have left it in your car.  Did you check your car?  I've done that before."

"It's not in my car."

"Are you sure?"

I sighed.  _Sure?  What is "sure"?  I don't remember ever being that.  Is it nice?_ "You know, I think I'll just place the order now so I don't forget, and it can get here sooner."

"But you could still find your old one, save yourself the money-"

"If I do, I'll just send the new one back, okay?" I snapped.  I saw the look on my mother's face, then immediately apologized for being so short.  "I'm sorry, that was so rude, I'm just-"

"Dear, I know, you're not yourself," my mother patted my hand.  "These things take time.  But- let's still try to keep the temper in check, shall we?"

So just before heading back out to the college, I ordered a new phone and all the basic trimmings.  I hadn't done any studying in the little time I had been conscious since the incident.  Honestly, I wasn't too stressed about the exam.  I knew I would at least earn a grade in the lower nineties.  My stats test would take a little more focus, but that was in another few days. 

The drive up was the hardest part for me, not because I was still dopey and I couldn't stay in my lane, or the traffic was playing games with my patience.  Driving wasn't the trouble, if you can excuse the few minutes it took adjusting back to driving on the right side of the road.  But it seemed every single song that played over the radio in these wee small hours of the morning conjured up some image from the trip.

On the rock station I heard the guitar solo of "Free Bird," and then all of a sudden I found myself in the back of the Mother Ship swerving away from the Circus Maximus at Caesar's Palace with a faceless shadow sitting beside me.  So I would change the frequency to some local high school oldies station, which played "The Air That I Breathe."  That same shadow now stood at my side in an odd, Vegas parody of the standard little white church.  Eventually, I just turned off the music and rode in silence.  As much as I loved the Hollies, I didn't need those pictures in my head distracting me.

Thank God, he was still just a shadow, like yesterday.  It meant I could suppress him- so far.

I parked in a mostly empty lot- most students didn't have to be there at eight a.m. for a test, lucky ducks- and trekked across the campus, stepping lively. 

Was it only this last Monday I made this same long walk to Mycento Hall?  Only five days before, when I met Dr. K, the man who turned my whole life inside out with the promise of twenty precious points?  Twenty points in exchange for my sanity.  I may as well have just sold my soul and been done with it. 

There was that vending machine with that greasy cinnamon roll I had so coveted that afternoon (probably the selfsame cinnamon roll I had passed every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since the semester started; no self-respecting person ate vending machine cinnamon rolls, not when there were nice, healthy Skittles for half the price and calories advertising themselves right at eye level).  Like before, I rushed past it; I was running behind as always.  I hadn't the time or the inclination to succumb to my sugar demons now.

I sat down, pencil poised over my scantron, watching as they passed the exams down the rows until the reached me, and I took mine.  I knew almost all the answers, even though I didn't study at all for it.  I finished in less than half an hour.  Honestly, the test itself was probably the easiest thing I had to go through all day.

There was Dr. Ledford and his assistants, like always, sitting at their fold-up table with stacks of filled scantrons and test question packets marked with either an "A" or a "B".  Unlike always, however, when I started their way after finishing up, Dr. Ledford nodded and waved at me.  I waved back, confused.  On Monday, he didn't even know my name, and probably wouldn't have recognized me as one of his own pupils.

So as I turned in my exam, he whispered, "Julia, right?"

"That's me," I nodded.  "Did, uh, Dr. Kurzweil tell you about my-"

"He did, he did.  You're all set- and with your prior grades to consider, you honestly didn't even have to take this test today.  Remember from the syllabus, our exam policy?  We drop the lowest test grade which includes the final- and all your tests were in the upper nineties."

I shrugged.  "I didn't want to take any chances."

"Fair enough," he nodded.  "He did, though, want me to pass this along to you."

"Pass what along?"

"This."  Then Dr. Ledford handed me a small brown parcel packaged in such a way that looked like it could have contained some kind of controlled substance.  _Old habits die hard, eh, K?_

"What's this for?" I asked.

"Not sure, but he wants you to have it.  He said it'll help- and he said not to open it until you got home- or until Christmas, if you can wait that long."

_Okay, now I'm really suspicious_.  "Dr. Ledford, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this, uh- transaction," I murmured, giving the package back.  "It's a little too fishy for my taste."

I had no reason to hang around the campus, so I decided to just start for home.  As I walked past the Physical Sciences building, however, I stopped, and took one step toward it.  Half of me wanted to see T-Rod again, see if that's really all it was: a big, glorified Oculus Rift. 

How had those images of Freddie been so vivid?  Why was his personality so spot on for the man himself, so unlike what I conceived of him?  He hadn't been some cardboard cutout, a caricature of himself.  He was Freddie Mercury, as multidimensional as any living human being.  VR couldn't do that, not even with the help of my brain.

I shook my head, and kept walking.  It wasn't real, no matter how hard I might wish it was.  There was no end to what technology could do these days. 

About halfway down the road, I felt brave enough to turn the music back on.  Surely not every song would remind me of him, would it?

And, as luck would have it, what should play but Neil Diamond's version of "Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon." 

Involuntarily, I bit my lip.  This was new.  Strange, how that song seemed to dig its claws into my flesh.  No, wait, not claws.  Teeth. 

Yes, teeth, nipping me softly in some places, hard in others, going up and down my jawline until they settled upon my ear lobe.  And now I could feel that hot breath puffing against my neck, and a wet, pointed tongue teasingly flicking just behind my ear.  And for the briefest of split seconds, I thought I caught the scent of licorice. 

My grip on the steering wheel tightened. I swallowed hard. The road before me began to blur. 

I hadn't been cured.  Not even close.  This wasn't just an obsession anymore; I was utterly hooked on him, and now I was actually going through some kind of withdrawal.  All I wanted was a Freddie fix- and not just his voice, either.  I needed his eyes, his mouth, his slender body, his heart, his mind _-_

_"STOP!_ " I screamed aloud.  _"STOP IT!  IT WASN'T REAL!  GET OVER IT!"_

I shook my head violently and squeezed my eyes shut for a second, then opened them- and slammed on the brakes before I rear-ended the car in front of me at forty-four miles an hour.  I was an inch away from hitting them before I screeched to a halt.  That was way too close.

And, my heart beating nearly out of my chest, I gasped aloud, "Thank you, dear Lord, for stopping the car and preventing me from killing someone else."

That was an odd thing to say. Not "killing someone," but "killing someone _else_ ," as though I'd already done that at some point.  I'd never killed anyone in my life.  The only thing I was worried about killing now was this obsession-turned-addiction. 

My feelings were slowly but steadily returning to me- and I realized my situation was worse now than ever before.  I had to get home fast.  If I was to really, truly nip this thing in the bud, I'd have to remove everything that reminded me of him. 

I set my jaw.  Forget storage.  Those albums were headed for the Goodwill.

First thing I did when I walked into my room was put on a record- Bob Dylan's _Blood on the Tracks._ It was the most un-Queenly thing I could think of.  Bob's drunken, nasal voice filled the air, completely devoid of the ethereal magnificence of Freddie's music.  Just what I needed.

Humming along to "Tangled Up in Blue," I then grabbed a nice-sized cardboard box from the garage and set to work.  I pulled the biographies and picture collections down from my shelves, all three of them.  I used to have four, but I got rid of one of them after I discovered it wasn't much more than a self-gratifying, poorly written, disgustingly indiscreet account of a relationship that trashed nearly everyone else that mattered in Freddie's life, including Freddie, and made the author sound like a misunderstood victim.

I'll let you decide whose book I mean.

Next came the videos, the documentaries, the interviews I had burned to disc, the enormous hand-drawn sketch of him that once hung on the wall.  I had pulled it down last night, and the dark eyes seemed to bore into me, demanding an answer.  It took effort, but I had turned the picture around so that it faced away from me- and now it sat unhappily with the other junk.  I didn't owe some drawing an explanation anyhow.

Now for the vinyls.

Methodically, purposefully, I sought out each and every precious LP, all the Queen and solo records I had amassed over the years.  I even pulled down that one Billy Squier album I had where he sang backup. 

But when my fingers found _News of the World_ and _Jazz_ , situated side by side on the shelf, I stopped.  I looked for a moment at the tracks on the former.  Nope.  Nothing had changed.  "My Melancholy Blues" was still stuck on the end, a lonely tail-out that didn't seem to really belong on the album at all.  It should have ended on a high note - the powerful "It's Late" would have more than done the trick- but for some reason, Freddie had thought it better to close the album with an unhappy, though still beautiful, jazz tune with only one verse and two choruses.

_Jazz_ hadn't changed any, either.  Averting my eyes from the gatefold picture, I inspecting the track list.  There it was, the would-be "Julia Song," sandwiched between those two hefty hits.  What a heartbroken little song it was, with injured lyrics aimed more it seemed at a specific person than some abstract emotion.

I paused, then, and mused to myself, how odd it was, how easily "Jealousy" could be exchanged for "Julia."  The emphasis was placed in the same spots and everything.  What an easy change that could have been...

"What are you doing?" Scott asked, poking his head into the room.

I snapped out of my daze.  "Something that needed to be done years ago," I muttered.

"Oh," he nodded.  "The mail came by, there's a birthday card and a box for you."   
  
"There is?" I frowned.  "I didn't order anything.  Except the new phone, but that's too fast."  _Good grief, is T-Mobile using drones now?_  
  
But still I got up and brought my mail into my room, shutting the door behind me.  
  
Scott whined, "Hey!  Can't I see what's in it?"  
  
"Let me see what it is first," I replied.   
  
"Uh-huh, okay," he replied through the door, in a voice that implied he knew it was twenty-three days till Christmas- and any package that came to our doorstep was a top suspect for carrying goodies that would soon bear a tag saying "To Scott, Merry Christmas." 

Pausing the Freddie purge a moment, I sat on my bed and looked the box over.  It was about the size of a microwave- white cardboard, scuffed a little at the corners and slightly yellowed with age, but otherwise immaculate.  There was no return label, no stamp; the only words I found on it at all were those of my name and home address printed in a cold computer serif font.

Oddly, enough, the card, too, offered no return address, and I didn't recognize the handwriting.  Confused, I tore it open, making a shredded mess of the envelope as I did. Inside, I found a card, but it didn't look anything like a birthday card; there were no ridiculous comedic illustrations, or intricate sparkly swirls, or textured calligraphic blurbs. In fact, the thing was completely blank on the outside. 

_What kind of joke is this?_ I asked myself. 

I didn't open the card just yet, however.  The blank box intrigued me more.  Slicing through the tape, I quipped to myself, _This had better not be more drugs, K_ , and opened the box. 

Past layer upon layer of some strange gelatin-filled packing cushions, I dug.  On top, I found one clasp envelope, and at the bottom was another, smaller box which accounted for most of the package's weight.

First I opened the yellow envelope, emptying the contents onto my bedspread.  A ripped in half Polaroid and a singed, yellowed envelope with the words "For Freddie" written haphazardly across the back tumbled out.

Wait a minute.  What?  I rubbed my eyes, squinted, but they were still there.

With trembling fingers, I picked up the ripped picture, which itself was blackened around the edges.  I gasped.

All that was visible was my profile, and a large hand touching my cheek.

The kiss.  The ripped in half kiss.  And close beside it, the letter I had written.  Unopened.  Untouched save by fire. 

And lastly, I opened the smaller box.  The two pairs of pointed ears- one black, one white- gave it away.  In disbelief I picked up Yin and Yang, turned them over in my hands.  Save for a new, jagged white line between the cats, they were whole and beautiful, gleaming happily under the light.  Under the wooden stand, to my even greater surprise, I found two chips- one that looked like a SIM, and another that looked like an SD card.

I tried to remember to breathe, reaching blindly for the blank card.  What was happening?  What was going on?

I opened it, and this is what I read:

_**Dear Julia Samuels,** _

**_I apologize.  I failed you.  I failed you both.  The one time it mattered, I was seconds too late.  That was the moment I had dreaded the most the whole long seven months I spent waiting.  I knew it was coming, but that makes it no less a horrid blunder. ** _I had no choice but to fail. I tried, but it wasn't meant to be. We are fortune's fools, are we not?_**_ **

**_My time is limited.  So I can only briefly discuss the few contents of the accompanying parcel.  I tried to save more of them, but Freddie, as you know, is quick-_ **

FREDDIE?

My eyes widened slowly, and my breathing shortened. I opened my mouth, I guess to scream, but all I could manage was a whisper, "Oh, my God... oh, my God..." over and over again.  _  
_

_What is this?_   I shouted inwardly.  _What is going on?  Was it real?  What is this about?_

I kept reading, feeling my lungs have more and more trouble with every word:

**_I tried to save more of them, but Freddie, as you know, is quick, and his wrath, all-consuming.  
_ **

**_I apologize for your LG smart phone; that was one of the first things he destroyed beyond the point of salvaging.  The technology is too outdated for me to even hope to resurrect myself, so I saved the SIM and the SD card- although I believe you'll find the SD much more valuable. I just barely rescued the photo and the unopened letter you left on his piano from the fireplace.  As you can see, the picture suffered a little more.  
_ **

**_It was those cats that killed me, though.  I became too bold.  He took those lovely jade cats in his hands, was about to throw them down, smash them all up just like your phone- but I grabbed his wrist before I could stop myself.  Julia, the man was two heads shorter than me and three years younger, but I swear I feared for my life when he looked up into my eyes.  I felt like a small boy again, being stared down by my father.  
_ **

**_He gave me a choice, and I quote: "Keep the cats, or keep your job."  And, obviously, I kept the cats._ **

_**There is so much I wish to say, so much I wish to reveal to you. Alas, if I do, I run the risk of jeopardizing what has yet to transpire, not to mention my own occupation- and potentially, our very lives. I'm bordering on breaking protocol simply by writing to you this way, a misdemeanor which is not tolerated.  So I will leave it at this:** _

_**Do not lose hope.  It doesn't end today, it doesn't end tomorrow.  Just remember what I told you: there is always a plan.  
** _

**_Say hello to Danny for me._ **

**_With warmest regards,_ **

**_Rudolph C. Barnes, Esq.  
_ **

**_P.S.  I hope you enjoyed the Oasis reference._ **

Were I in a less tangled state of mind, I would have asked myself what he meant by "Oasis reference," or who he was talking about when he said "Danny." 

_He never read my letter,_ I thought to myself.  _He never even opened it, he didn't see what I wrote.  The bastard.  And Rudy. Rudy had sent me these. Rudy, the common driver. Who were you, Rudy? How did you know so much? Why me? Why him? Why us?_

_Okay, great, man, you know so much, IF YOU KNEW YOU'D BE LATE, WHY DIDN'T YOU LEAVE SOONER?_

Behind me, the track on the record changed.

_They sat together in the park_  
_As the evening sky grew dark._  
_She looked at him, and he felt a spark tingle to his bones._  
_It was then he felt alone, and wished that he'd gone straight-_  
_And watched out for a simple twist of fate._

I blinked. 

_Fate._

The word bit into me. 

And at long last, I realized. 

Was this always the way it was meant to be?

Very slowly, the last few minutes came in for a horrible, bloody crash-landing.

Those two weeks, in another year, in another world.  Those precious moments, there in Freddie's arms, that sweet coo of his voice, the loving light in his eyes.  And me spending every one of them worrying about whether some little thing would change the world, cause a discrepancy or some such crazy nonsense.  With all my attempts to keep the past together, I was again playing my part in history, setting everything in motion. 

"Jealousy" was always my song.  I had always been part of "We Will Rock You."  I had always been at that dinner party.  Just because there were no pictures of me doesn't mean I wasn't there.  I had changed nothing- because there was nothing to change. I wasn't the change at all. I was business as usual. I was intended. I was his Fate.

I felt tears, tears I'd wanted to cry for days, pour down my cheeks.  I was feeling now. 

Oh, God. I could have stayed.  I could have chosen to stay- except I couldn't.  This was the way it was always supposed to be.  I was always meant to come, I was always meant to leave.  I broke my promise to him, so he broke his to me.  I lied to him.  I betrayed him.  So naturally, being stubborn, willful Freddie, everything I warned him about, he embraced- and all the things I wished him to have, he spurned. 

And now he was dead.  Dead at my hand.  Just like it was always meant to be.  Made in heaven.  Written in the stars.  The fulfillment of Destiny. 

"I killed him," I whispered deliriously.  "I killed my prince.  I killed him just as surely as if I put a loaded gun to his temple and pulled the trigger."

_Freddie, my darling... I'm so sorry..._

My heart shattered.  The tears fell.  The sun shone.  And Bob Dylan sang.

_People tell me it's a sin_  
_To know and feel too much within._  
_I still believe she was my twin, but I lost the ring._  
_She was born in spring, but I was born too late._  
_Blame it on a simple twist of fate._


	82. Birdman's Eye View: Leave No Trace

**December 1, 2017**

I wake with a start.

It's about five in the afternoon now, but the light outside is already fading.  I'm taking it easy, a night alone with Veronica before the grandchildren come around tomorrow.  I've been sitting in front of the telly for about an hour, just resting my eyes -a phrase that always makes my wife roll hers- while the BBC newsreader babbles on about some new crisis, some new hindrance to Brexit, whatever the new problem is.  It's always something, and never anything good. It's definitely not the same Britannia I grew up in.  That much I can admit.  The rest, I'll keep to myself.

But it's not some particularly horrendous top story that's roused me.  In fact, I don't know what it is.  Something just seemed to have pricked at my old decrepit brain, and now I'm feeling a little uneasy. 

But it's nothing an evening stroll won't remedy.

So I put on my shoes, tug a dark gray anorak over my head, and try not to wince at the craggy, old man's face I see in the mirror.  God, I look old.  Some people wear their age well.  Not me.  I'm sixty-six last August, and it shows.  But that's life.  In its own funny way, it's a privilege to reach this point, when you can look back at what you accomplished, and look at now, when you see what you have now.  Me, I'm content.  And that's plenty.

"Dear, I'm going for a walk," I call to my wife. 

"Be careful," she calls back.  "Dinner's at six."

"I won't be out that long," I assure her. 

I lock the door behind me, breathe in the cold, wintry air.  I love late afternoon walks.  I don't go on as many as I used to, things being as they are these days, but they're ever so relaxing. 

Usually, anyway.  Even after ten minutes of an easy pace through the neighborhood, I can't shake the feeling. 

I only feel this way whenever I think about my days with Queen- the tours and the parties and everything.  It's not a pleasant feeling, to be honest.  I have many, many fond memories of that era, that twenty-some-odd years of my life.  But right now, I have this more familiar feeling inside, the feeling I get when I think about Freddie- and, consequently, what might have been, if things were different.

It's been many years since I've had any dealings with those two, Brian and Roger.  I don't miss those days, actually- at least, not the days when only the three of us remained.  We should not have even called ourselves Queen after that.  Without Freddie, there is no Queen. 

Freddie is what made us, kept us together- certainly the reason I stayed the bass player for so long.  I don't dislike the other two, exactly, don't misunderstand me.  I respect them as colleagues and artists, and I make it a point not be a problem for them, whatever it is they do.  I just don't like what they've done with Queen's image.  With Freddie's image. 

I mean, just between you and me- it doesn't seem to end.  Robbie Williams, Paul Rodgers, and now this Adam Lambert fellow.  I don't know.  Maybe I'm just being a hard-nosed geriatric, but I'm not a fan.  The way I see it, if you have to spend half the concert telling the audience that you're not Freddie Mercury and you don't intend to replace Freddie Mercury and yet at the same time you have to throw an image of Freddie Mercury up on the screen, just constantly reminding people that he's gone- to me, that's defeating the purpose. If your intent is to move on, then move on, be your own separate unit.  But don't say that's your goal, and then keep milking the past, and drawing on the spirit of a dead man because you can't stir any excitement all by yourselves.

Sorry, there, I just get so exercised over these things.  Let me get down from my soapbox. 

As I was saying, I do honestly wish things had turned out differently.  And that's putting it very mildly.  Who wouldn't?  Freddie was my friend.  No, more than that.  I loved him.  I still do.  I loved him like a brother.  Don't ask me why, but I was very close to him.  He was not as close to me as I felt to him, but there were reasons for that.

Now, people tend to blame -do forgive me for putting it like this, but it works- the fame and fortune, and everything that goes with them.  And I won't ever say they played no role whatsoever, but they did not cause the change in him.  I know almost beyond a shadow of a doubt when he took this turn, a turn for (I believe) the worse- and why.

It's funny what you remember, sometimes, and what you forget.  And where that day is concerned, I remember nearly everything. 

The day Freddie died- the first time.

*************************************************************************************

**July 14, 1977  
**

Brian sits at the console, pen in hand, scrawling possible lyrics for one of his songs.  "It's Late," or something.  He's really grown fond of that one, even more so than "Sleeping on the Sidewalk," which we've already basically completed anyway.  I'm sitting on the sofa with a Spanish acoustic, trying to put chords to this song I started last night.  Inspiration comes from strange places sometimes; mine came from a fortune cookie.  Our manager John Reid is here, too, sort of overseeing our goings-on, with Paul Prenter sitting right next to him, acting the spectator.

And Roger and Freddie are having some little tete-a-tete about the drums for "Champions," Freddie trying his best to put into coherent terms just what it is he wants.  I can only assume from how energized Freddie is that Julia is still around- something for which I am so, so grateful-and the more excited he is, the less adeptly he can channel his ideas into words:

"Now, when the guitars come in on the first verse, I think a little _tss_ from, you know, the high-hat, to kind of, um- right there, and uh, then again after another measure, then of course, on the beats, where everybody comes in loud, you do the whole crash thing, then keep hitting the snares while I'm going BOM-ba-ba-ba-ba-BOM-ba-ba-ba-ba-BOM...."

You get used to it after a while, I suppose- but Julia would laugh if she were here.  Maybe it's good that she isn't yet.  Then again, he doesn't mind one bit when she laughs at him.  All he does is jab her about something else.  I'm so glad she decided to stay.  She's really very good for him, and he for her.

I'm reminded of something my wife said at breakfast this morning, right after feeding Robert.  She looked at that photograph of the two of them and informed me, "He'd better do it quick."

I looked up.  "Do what?"

"Marry her."

I had to smile.  "What for?"

"Because she's not going to wait around for him to make up his mind.  I can tell."

I folded my arms.  "Why do you say that?"

"Because she's not at all like Mary, and Mary is... patient."

"You think she'll leave him?"  The thought gave me a bit of an upset, admittedly.

"I don't know," she shrugged.  "All I know is, if he doesn't marry her, and marry her quick, he's going to miss out on something wonderful."

"What's that?" I asked.

She didn't reply, instead sort of patted her middle and smiled.

Ron is such a romantic.  I love it.

Suddenly Freddie glides away from Roger's nest, starts to ask what time it is when he stops himself.  "Wait, never mind, I know."

Then he pulls out Julia's little black rectangle, the one that was playing all that great music last night, from under his own stack of papers, and pushes a button.

"What's that, Freddie?" Ratty asks, craning his neck.

"A thing that tells time," he says dismissively.  "Now go back to your s-  Ah!  Eleven twenty-seven.  Suppose I'd better call her then."

"Is she coming back up here again?" This is spoken almost as a groan- by whom, I don't know, but whoever it is, they're not happy about it.

"Who?" John Reid frowns.  "Not that girl you brought here a week ago?"

"But of course!"

Brian shakes his head with a small snort, John Reid asks "What for?" and Paul's eyes narrow the slightest bit.

"Would you old busybodies calm down?  She doesn't bother anyone," Freddie croons.  "And anyway, she helps me think."

"With what?" Roger giggles.

"Oh, get stuffed," Freddie pops back, turns his back so that he misses the very clever way Roger screws up his face into a silly expression, then waltzes happily out of the control room, calling for his driver.  "Rudy, dear, I'll need you to..."

When Freddie leaves, Brian at once stands up and heads for the piano.  Strange, he doesn't compose on the piano very often, and yet there he goes, carrying the lyrics with him. 

"Psst!"

I turn to see Freddie poking his head back in, gesturing for me to follow.  So I set the guitar down by the sofa and do just that, a big grin spreading across my face. I can't help it, this is just becoming so much fun. As much of a strain as it was at first, I love being in on their game now. It's good to be this close to them. Taxing at times, true, but that happens when you invest a little emotion in something; all really meaningful relationships have to be at least a little taxing.  If it's easy, there's no risk, and nothing to lose, and therefore, no real connection at all.

Freddie's already dialing the number into the studio phone while his driver watches (Good God, that's a behemoth of a fellow) when I come out.  "What is it?" I ask.

"Something I wanted to ask you," he says softly, covering the receiver with his hand.  "Something about, um, you and Veronica."

"Me and Veronica?"

"Right," he says, then starts stammering, "I just wondered, uh, how you- you know, went about-" 

But then there's a click over the phone, and something very softly spoken, I assume a "hello." Freddie rips himself out of the moment, makes his voice sound much more confident than before. "That you there, Julia?" he asks.

His driver Rudy shifts from one foot to the other, subtly looks at his watch, and lets out a long, rather anxious sigh.  "Freddie, shall I get go-"

But Freddie holds up his finger at the driver.  The big man immediately falls silent, biting his tongue savagely as he looks over his shoulder toward the exit.  I don't know this Rudy very well, but even I can see it's all he can do not to fly out the door now.  Wonder what he's so antsy about. 

Freddie of course doesn't notice, he's too enthralled in this conversation.  Suddenly his brows knit.  "Darling, are you all right?" he asks, then adds after a pause, "I'll feel a lot better once I find out what's making you sound so strange."

He doesn't look anywhere near convinced with her reply; it's more than likely she didn't answer.  So he goes on, "Are you still coming?"

Rudy has begun impatiently throwing his keys into the air, crazy for Freddie to turn him loose.  At last he gets his wish, because Freddie announces, winking at him, "I'll have him drive as though the devil himself were after him- In fact, go now, Rudy!"

The words are barely out of his mouth when Rudy springs into motion, lumbering ungracefully for the door. 

But they're not finished talking yet.  Freddie turns back to the phone.  "Yes, angel?"  He blinks, smiles gently, and answers her, "I love you, darling.  You know that."

I don't know what her response is, but it makes the smile fade from Freddie's face.  In fact, now he looks rather worried.  "Julia, what's wrong?"  She says something else.  "What?"  His mouth twitches.  "Julia, hold on a min-"

But then there's a low buzz on the other end.  Julia has hung up.  I'm still standing here, waiting for Freddie to ask that question, but he seems to have already forgotten about it as he replaces the receiver on the hook.

To himself he murmurs, "Give my regards to Phil?  Wha-" 

And then his eyes bug.  I ask automatically, "What is it?"

But he doesn't hear me.  Two seconds he stands there, putting the invisible pieces together, and he goes utterly white.

"Oh, no," he says softly.  Then he swallows, and his confusion turns into complete, unadulterated fear.  He repeats himself.  " _Oh, no_."

  "Freddie what's the matter?"  I ask again.  "Is it Ju-"

" _Oh, no, oh no oh no oh NO NO **NO NO NO!**_ " 

This he shouts while racing out the door, bursting so forcefully through he nearly knocks the slab off its hinges.  On reflex I follow him as far as the threshold, and as the door swings closed I watch him dart out in front of his car, waving his arms around for Rudy to stop.  He's babbling something wildly as he yanks open the back passenger door and clambers in.

And it's here the front door closes, and he vanishes from view...

***************************************************************************************************

**December 1, 2017**

I've been standing here the last five minutes, watching a few dead brown leaves in the middle of the sidewalk swirl around with the breeze, so totally lost in my thoughts.  Why is that day coming back to haunt me tonight? 

Not that I don't usually think about it.  On the contrary, I've thought about that day a lot over the years.  And I knew him well enough to know something dreadful took place, when he returned home that afternoon.  I could feel it even before he had hung up the phone.  Somehow, I could just tell.

Just like that, without a warning, Julia was gone. 

With a sigh, I keep walking- and keep thinking.  Because it didn't stop with her leaving, and whatever temporary heartache that meant for Freddie. It went so much deeper- deeper than even I could fathom at the time. 

Little did I know, little did any of us know, that the man who walked back into the studio that July afternoon, though he may have looked like Freddie, walked like Freddie, talked like Freddie, was not Freddie.  He was something else.  Something alive, but cold-blooded.  Something that could smile and laugh with his face and throat, but not with his eyes.  Something detached, extreme- and frightening:

Everyone but me was surprised to see him return alone two hours later, hands behind his back, head held high, eyes cloaked with a strange, new screen- a more impenetrable one even than what he used on stage.  Brian was still busy at the piano, practicing the piano chords, singing his new lyrics softly to himself.  He didn't notice Freddie walking back in.

"Where've you been?" John Reid asked.

"Just stepped out a moment," Freddie replied.  His voice was very cool.  "I didn't miss anything big, did I?"

Roger answered, "Not really, Bri's just working on some new song of his.  Sort of waiting on you, I guess."

"Mm."  Without apologizing, Freddie leaned down and whispered something to John Harris about "that song," which prompted the sound man to rise from the chair and go searching about in the next room. 

"Once Brian gets through with whatever he's doing in there, I'd like to say something very quickly," Freddie announced.  "Actually, no, I'll just say it now, tell him later.  He takes too long and this has to be addressed."

"Say what?" Roger asked, putting his feet up on the console. 

"And by the way, Beryl," Freddie added casually to John Reid- I remember he sometimes would call him Beryl, after Beryl Reid the actress, "if you know of anyone who'd be willing to work as a sort of driver, tell me.  My chauffeur, um... quit unexpectedly this afternoon.  I had to take a taxi back here- and I'd really rather not do that again."

John Harris came trotting back in with a roll of tape that said "My Melancholy Blues: Take 1-14.  Property of Queen Productions, Ltd."  He started to fit it on the spool when Freddie waved his hand and said, "Give it to me."

The man squinted, but did as Freddie instructed.  Then he looked out at all of us in the control room.  His eyes were flatter than I'd ever seen them, and his features were like marble- cold, white, and stiff.  Something was off here.  Very, very off.

Drumming his fingers impatiently against the spool in his hands, Freddie spoke.

"I feel I ought to apologize for the last two weeks," he said in that same cool, offhand voice.  "I've been less than focused, and I believe it may have slowed us down some.  It will not happen again.  What we have here is too, um- too big a thing to come second as far as I'm concerned."

As he was talking, Freddie began to unwind the spool that was full of every single take that he and Julia had recorded together of that song.  John Reid stood up, face turning red.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Us a favor," Freddie replied.

"Do you have any idea how much-"

"Darling, don't you know by now that the cost is the most ridiculous thing you can possibly throw at me?"  God, how cold he sounded.  "It's one f---ing thing of tape, and one f---ing song.  We'll survive."

When the entire spool lay in a tangled brown heap at his feet, Freddie swooped his hand theatrically in the air. "Would someone take this mess out of here and burn it?"

And Paul Prenter stood a second later and scooped up the long brown tape.  "Burn it, you say?" He almost sounded excited. 

Freddie's brows rose a little, perhaps at his sudden enthusiasm, and then he relaxed again.

"Yes, dear," he confirmed, a strange "Only you understand me" sort of smile spreading across his lips.  "Burn it till there's nothing left."

"Yes, Freddie," Paul bowed- not at all the last time I'd hear those words escape his lips- and walked out.  Right then, whatever weird little connection those two had became stronger- and almost from that moment on, wherever Freddie happened to be, it was understood that Paul Prenter was only as far away as the next room.

"While he's doing that," Freddie murmured, "does anybody have a match?"

"I've got a lighter," Roger offered.

"That's perfect."  Roger tossed it to Freddie, who walked over to the conveniently empty metal dustbin and kicked it a little bit away from the sofa.  Then, he rummaged around looking for a particular sheet of paper- I believe it was the revamped lyrics, again, for "My Melancholy Blues"- I think that because I saw two different handwriting styles in different color ink on one side.  He took this in hand, and lit one corner, which immediately caught.  With a bland interest, we all watched the paper curl and blacken, the ink fading against the paper, as brittle as the autumn leaves that flutter past me now.

"Freddie, are you off your head?" John Reid asked.  "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, darling, nothing that will in any way, shape, or form hurt us," Freddie began.  "I never thought that song needed a second verse anyway."

But that's when an oblivious Roger Taylor cut in, and innocently asked, "So where's Okoy?"

Freddie opened his mouth to answer, but John Reid frowned.  "Okoy?"

"Yeah.  Okoy.  That's what I call Eve."

And then the whole tone changed.

Freddie threw the burning paper down into the dustbin so hard a couple of embers puffed out, landed on the carpet where they burned themselves out seconds later.  Paul Prenter returned and stood in the doorway, quietly dusting off his hands.  In the studio proper, Brian was still practicing his new little song on the piano, the sweet, almost mournful chords making Freddie's sharp, pinched features look even more menacingly furious.  He had our ears.

"I'm only going to say this once," Freddie stated, his voice cold and deadly, one hand clenching in a fist.  "And I want you people to know that I mean it with everything I am: I never want to hear that name again.  Not now, not later, not ever- If you, any of you, so much as breathe that name one more time, so f---ing help me, I'm gone.  Like that.  Gone.  And never coming back.  And you will have to find yourselves some other old queen to ponce around the f---ing stage for you.  You think I'm bluffing, go ahead and test me.  Go on."

All of us were, needless to say, quite stunned at this display.  As for me, I was something very close to terrified. 

I realized I didn't know this man anymore.  I still cared for him as a friend, as a colleague.  But some time between his leaving Wessex and his coming back that day, a steel wall had been erected around his soul- a wall that took me some getting used to.  It's hard when people you consider your friends completely shut down at the drop of a hat.

The blood flowed out of his cheeks, and he took a deep breath.  "Now then, do we understand each other, darlings?" he asked.

"Yeah, okay," Roger answered.

I nodded silently.

"Of course," John Reid replied.

The sound guys sort of nodded and shrugged, unsure why this was such a big issue.

"Yes, Freddie," Paul agreed.

"Good," he started to say, then turned around, about to call Brian in to say something similar; I suppose he grew tired of waiting.  But as soon as he pushed the intercom button, we were all able to hear Brian as he sang softly along to the piano.

_"She came without a farthing,_   
_A babe without a name._   
_So much ado about nothing,_   
_Is what she tried to say._

_So much ado, my lover._   
_So many games we played._   
_Through every fleeted summer,_   
_Through every precious day._

_All dead, all dead._   
_All the dreams we had._   
_I wonder why I still live on._   
_All dead, all dead,_   
_and, alone, I'm spared._   
_My sweeter half instead,_   
_All dead, and gone._   
_All dead-"_

"Brian, what are you doing?" Freddie snarled. 

Brian looked up, startled.  "I'm- practicing my song."

"Oh, really," he scoffed.  "And what's this song of yours about?"

Perhaps my imagination is running away with me, but if I'm remembering correctly, even as savage as he sounded, his voice seemed to thicken- and tremble- when he asked that.

I don't know how much of what Freddie said, he heard via one-way intercom.  Of course, it was obvious, where at least some of that inspiration stemmed from.  She affected all of us in some way, be it large or small- even Mr. May himself, the one who did his best to stay out of it altogether. 

But Brian, though he is a lot of things, was certainly no fool.

He looked Freddie right in the eyes, and said plainly, "My cat."

Freddie blinked.  "Your... your cat?"

"Right," Brian nodded, curls bobbing up and down.  "My cat, the- uh, the one that I had as a lad."

"Oh." 

"What do you think of it, Freddie?" he asked.

I saw Freddie's back shudder slightly, as his hands quietly clawed the underside of the console he was slouching against.  God knows what his expression happened to be.

"It's," Freddie whispered, "it's lovely."

Then, very slowly, I remember him straightening up, and suddenly hitting the console with the side of his fist in a gentle excitement.  "Well, anyway, now that that's all cleared up, let's get back to it, shall we?"

And that ended it.

As you probably already know, Eve Dubroc indeed was never again discussed amongst ourselves. Otherwise there wouldn't be another thirteen years of Queen music floating around on the airwaves today.  Freddie was indeed a man of his word.  If he said he would leave if x, y, and z happened, I believed him.  We all did.

I've thought about that day a lot over the years, but now it's really settling in my head as I walk along the road under this English gray sky. I don't claim to know all the details, I don't claim to read his mind. We were such complete opposites, Freddie and me, to the point that I was basically his foil. I know that. I'm steady, a bit on the boring side. I was born with an old soul. I couldn't be anything less.

All the same, I think perhaps whenever he looked at me and my dear family over the years, he was looking through a what-if window- and he saw what he might have had, if she had still been there when the sun set that evening.

Because at the back of Freddie's mind, I believe -and I could be wrong, don't quote me on this- I was that last reminder, the one piece of living evidence that he could not forget, or burn, or rip to shreds. For while he tried so vehemently to choke out the memories by indulging himself in every way he could think of, I was still there with mine. The others gladly forgot, those two weeks didn't affect them nearly as much as they affected me and Freddie. We might have been close friends, tightly knit companions. And oh, how I wish that's what had happened.

But it didn't. Destiny had something else in mind.

And Freddie changed.

It was a gradual change- it took nearly two years to really start showing- but once it appeared, it escalated exponentially. And for the longest time, he was an entirely different person- a sex and drugs and alcohol machine, all about a good time even at the expense of dropping dead while in the midst of having one. Maybe, in a way, that's what he was half-hoping would happen all along. Sort of a passive suicide, death by hedonism.

And all because of some sweet, mysterious little stray kitten. 

One girl tripped him up, one girl brought him down. 

Who knew.

Or was she a trick in my head as well, a makeshift explanation, a means for me to cope with Freddie's death?  A target I concocted in my own cobwebbed skull, a face to which to brand the blame? 

Good God.  I don't f---ing know anymore.  I'm so old, anything is possible.  After all, there wasn't one stone Freddie left unturned.  He burned the lyrics, destroyed the tape, abolished her very name.  God knows what he did to her clothes and everything- probably burned those too.

I turn the corner.  There's my house a little ways down.  I told Veronica I wouldn't be out long.  I'm as good as my word today.

I honestly don't know of anyone else so thorough in removing an unpleasant memory.  Perfectionist he is, he found everything, everything she touched, and destroyed it- with the exception, of course, of the album itself.  Her fingerprints are all over _News of the World_ \- and that one song on _Jazz_.  One simply needs to know where to look.  But she is everywhere.  Julia might as well have her photograph stamped on the cover, in place of the giant killer rob-

I stop in my tracks.

Photograph.

Wait a minute.

There was a photograph.  I remember.  She gave it to me.  It was a Polaroid, so state-of-the-art in those days- and it was of the two of them, together.  Smiling.  Happy.

The day before she disappeared.

Didn't she write something on the backside?  Wasn't it some queue of numbers?  Yes.  Two of them.

Could one have been a phone number? 

Yes.  An American phone number, anyway.  Just add the one in front, and voila. 

Supposing- supposing that number worked.

2017, she said she came from.  It's 2017 now.  Perhaps- you think-

_No.  That's absurd.  I'm having some kind of spasm in the brain.  That's the only explanation._

But now, I'm running the rest of the way home, not sixty-six anymore but twenty-six, and it's as though forty years never passed.  What was once the future, is now the present.  There's a chance I can reach her, reach Julia Samuels- Freddie's stray kitten, my little insecure pixie friend, and all-around miracle.

Why does this matter?  Why do I need to hear her voice?

I don't know. 

But something deep down tells me it's terribly important.  And that's enough for me.

I burst through the front door and race up the stairs.

"John, what's going on?" Ron asks, bewildered.

"EUREKA!" I shout.

"You found something?"

"Not yet, my love, not yet!" I cry.  "But I will, I just need to find it."

"The meal will be ready in a few minutes," Veronica warns me.  "Don't get too enthralled, I don't want to sit down to a cold supper."

I'm only half-listening.  Straight to my study I run, and pull down every photo album I see.  I'm going to find that Polaroid if it's the last thing I do! 

Oh, God, please tell me I still have it somewhere!


	83. K Saves the Day

If you think I just sat on my hands and didn't try and get back to him, you're crazy.  In fact, that very Saturday, as soon as I got a grip on myself, I lifted my head, shouted "NO!" and jumped back in my car, headed straight back to the university, and charged for the Physical Sciences building.  I found the elevator, held down the basement button.  

_I'm on my way, Freddie!_ I kept thinking.  _Hold on, I'm coming!_

But they were ready for me.

I had barely stepped off the elevator when two very intimidating men in suits and earpieces approached me, saying, "This area is off limits.  Please return to the surface."

"You don't understand!" I began.  "I need to see T-Rod!  I have to get back!"

"If you do not turn around, we will have to consider you a threat," one informed me mechanically.  "Return to the surface."

Behind them I saw a few big, strong men pushing machinery down the hall, Dr. C clapping his hands and urging them, "Come on, come on!  We don't have time!  George wants this place cleared out by tonight!"

"C!" I screamed, and he whirled, jaw dropping.  "C, tell these guys who I am!"

"Julia, go home," he ordered.

"I have to go back in, C!  Please!  I-"

"Julia, you have served your purpose, and I thank you, but we don't need you any longer.  Go home."

"I'm going to call Stuart!" I warned him.  "I'm-"

"What for?  He'll just defer to me."

"He's your boss!"

"I don't report to Dr. Proose," he said, pronouncing "Preus" incorrectly again.  "I report to George.  There's nothing I can do in relation to T-Rod that Dr. Proose is not required by his own terms to back up whole-heartedly.  Calling him won't get you back in.  I'm sorry, Julia.  You're done here."

My eyes narrowed, and I sprang like a lioness- only to be seized roughly by the agents and dragged back toward the elevator.  Still I struggled, screaming, "C, you bastard, LET ME IN!"

He sighed.  "Guys?"

At his word they manhandled me into the elevator and did not leave my side until we were in the parking lot.

"This is your one warning," they said.  "If you trespass one more time, you will be arrested and committed for up to thirty years or for a fine that shall not exceed 500,000 dollars."

"Where's the law that justifies that?" I snapped.

"Drive safe," was all they answered.  I didn't test them, however, and instead clambered obediently into my car and drove the long way home.  I tucked Stuart's card back into my bag, sat back, and indulged in a few more tears for the road, those bitter five words cruelly repeating in my head.

_You have served your purpose._

I seriously do not know how I made it through finals week. I finished all my tests of course, some more successfully than others, but I was barely aware of my own surroundings. I could regurgitate facts in the form of filling in the appropriate multiple choice bubbles- but the facts meant nothing to me. I was just coasting, going through the motions because it was expected of me. Had I had my way, however, I wouldn't have even risen from bed in the morning, and just stayed there until someone kicked me out, pulled me to my feet and pushed me to the door.

My life had no meaning to me any longer.  I was dead inside.  And I do not solely mean in the figurative sense.  I really, truly wanted to die.  With each day that passed, I blamed myself more for his end- and I became more and more ready to take my own life as penance. I began to obsess less over Freddie, and more over killing myself. Death sounded so proper, so just, the very thing I deserved.  

For was I not one of the more decisive nails in Freddie's coffin?  Hadn't I practically murdered him with my own two hands?

At the rate I was going, I was more or less on the road toward a passive suicide anyway.  I couldn't sleep, instead just lay in bed every night, eyes open, debating internally whether or not I should make quiet use of one of the kitchen knives and slash my wrists to irreparably deadly shreds, while all day I dragged around, exhausted and frightfully wan.  

I wasn't eating much of anything at all; I had almost no appetite.  Nothing sounded good to me, the very aroma of certain things sent me sprinting to the bathroom, where I hurled up whatever few bites of food I forced down my throat.  That scared my family more than anything else; if I wasn't eating, something had to be wrong.

I overheard Mom talking to Dad the next Friday morning, the day of my final exam over my hardest subject yet: stats.  By this point I looked like a walking corpse- gaunt, half-starved, fatigued, dizzy.  I had been to the family doctor already at my parents' behest, but he found nothing physically wrong with me, besides what was disintegrating between my ears and in my heart.  I was caught in a downward spiral, and there was nothing anybody could do about it except put me in rehab which, "unbeknownst" to me, my parents had discussed a few days ago, arguing over whether or not a representative should come have a look at me and see if I qualified.

"It's that VR thing, I know it!" she was saying.  "Oh, Dear God, I feel so helpless, I hate this!"

"Wonder what they put in her head," Dad murmured, and he almost sounded defeated.  "Wonder what they made her see- or do."  

And they had indeed asked me, tried to pick my brain about those "two hours" I spent under T-Rod's spell, but I had told them nothing.  They would never believe me, anyway, not even if I produced Rudy's evidence.  C and K had covered their tracks much too well.

"Whatever it is, it's eating her up," she whispered, voice thickening.  "Oh, Julia.  My poor little goose... what did they do to you?   Why did you let them?"

_Because I had to, Mom_ , I responded silently.  _Someone had to kill him, and that someone had to be me.  And now, I'm facing good old-fashioned karma.  He died at my hand; it's only fair I should die at his._

"We'll be the death of each other, I swear," Freddie had quipped to me once.  I hung my head and sighed.  How ironic could you get?

It was my mother that drove me to school for this last exam; I was too far gone to drive myself.  She practically force-fed me a few bites of cereal that morning and only stopped when I said I was starting to feel nauseous.  She tried to make me drink a cup of coffee before I left, saying it would perk me up, but today, the very aroma made my stomach capsize, and I ran for the bathroom to throw it all up again.  So I instead had crackers and ginger ale for breakfast.  That, I kept down.  

My sweet, well-meaning mother.  She was trying.

"I'm, uh, going to be back in two hours to pick you up, okay?" she said carefully.  

"Okay," I croaked.

"Sweetie-" she began.

"Yes?" I looked at her.

My mother didn't go on, instead just patted my cheek, a sad, confused look on her face, and whispered, "Be careful."

"Mm-hm, I will," I muttered.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

I got out of the car and ambled shakily to the math building.  Behind me my mother watched; I could feel her eyes on me with every step.  She must have felt so helpless, a feeling we in my family have never taken well.  Though we love our privacy, we also want to fix things, help people- but when the situation is completely beyond our control, and we are powerless to do anything about it, that's when we lose our minds, just like I was losing my mind about Freddie.

But this pawn had served her purpose, just like C said.  So why was I still allowed to take up space on this planet?  I was now a waste of oxygen, a clock ticking her life away until someone finally did the world a favor and removed me.  

I looked behind me and watched Mom pulling away.  _Shame the cars drive so slowly around the campus,_ I said to myself casually.  _Or else I would throw myself in front of one of them.  
_

I took the test and bombed it.  I know I did.  But that was okay; I had forgotten that the stats exam policy was identical to that of my psych class, so my GPA wouldn't suffer any, either.  Well, hurray, hurray.  My GPA, through it all, had survived the best, maintained at 4.0.  The things a girl will do for a scholarship.

I finished the test earlier than I anticipated; one hour in, I was passing in the scantron and hobbling out, weakly pushing the door open.  So now I was stuck on the campus for another hour, till Mom came and collected me.  I couldn't let her know I'd finished early; my phone still had not arrived in the mail yet.  Stupid postal service.

_God, I would love to be able to keep something down right now,_ I murmured to myself.  

I pushed the building's double doors open, walked outside a few paces- then stopped dead in my tracks.  A few paces away stood a little man wearing one of those dorky Kyle Broflovski-style hats and a big brown coat, his hooked nose red with the cold.  As intimidating as a garden gnome.

But my weak knees only went weaker.

Dr. K.

"Julia!" he said haltingly.  "What a surprise!"

What ire I hadn't been allowed to shower on C, I now let loose on his partner.  My eyes narrowed.  "What do you want now?"

He drew back, startled.  "Huh?"

"You didn't just happen to prance over here, God, you're so obvious, K.  You were looking for me.  What do you f---ing want?"  My weak voice shook with anger- an exhausting emotion, for which I did not have the energy.

"I don't want anything, I-"

"Bullshit.  What is it this time?  You've pretty much taken everything, what more is there you can do to me?"

He took a step forward.  "Julia, listen-"

"Come just a little closer and I'll call my dad."  An idle threat, as I had no phone, but he hesitated just the same.

"What's he gonna-"

"My dad's a lawyer," I announced, and K didn't come any nearer.  _Works every time._

Still he pleaded, though from a distance, "Julia, listen to me.  Do you know why I picked you?" 

"Because you're a sadistic cold-blooded scientist, that's why.  Now go away!"  I turned on my heel and marched off.  Or tried to.

Before I could make a triumphant exit, I suddenly felt extremely lightheaded.  The ground seemed to slip out from underneath me and rise up to make contact with my face.  For another few seconds everything was dark.

"Julia, wake up," K's voice slowly drifted into my ears.  "Julia?  Are you okay?"

I opened my eyes.  I was in an empty classroom, the kind with the staggered, elevated rows of chairs- empty except for K and myself.  My head was pounding, and yet lighter than a helium balloon.  

"What happened?" I whispered.

"You fainted," he said.  "When was the last time you ate anything?" 

"This morning- if two saltine crackers counts as eating anything," I whispered, holding my head and my stomach.  

"Don't move," he said.  "There's a snack machine right outside this door, what can I get you?  Snickers?  Peanut butter cookie?  What?"

"Anything but a cinnamon roll," I murmured.  "And a water too, please, haven't kept much water in my system lately."

He hesitated a moment.  "Why's that?"

"I keep on throwing up.  It's been a real fun week, let me tell you."

K's expression changed when I said that.  I was too dizzy to read anything into it, but he seemed to look even more worried than before.  He disappeared out the door, and came back less than a minute later with some fruity granola bar and a big friendly bottle of Ozarka.

"Thank you," I murmured, tearing open the snack bar and taking a small, tentative bite.  My stomach seemed to tolerate it, so I took a bigger chomp, scarcely remembering to chew.

"Slowly, now, chew it," he instructed.  "Wash it down-"

"I know how to feed myself, K," I sighed before taking a swig of water.  "It's the keeping it down that's tricky."

The tremulous voice became stern, almost fatherly.  "Julia, you're going to have to take better care of yourself."

"You sound like my mother," I grumbled.  "K, where's the nearest bridge?"

"What? Why?"

"'Cos I'm gonna jump off of it and, ideally, die."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be."

"Then why are you talking like that?"  
  
"Because I want to.  Die, I mean."  My voice shook, tears filling my eyes.  "I know I sound absurd, but- but I'd just really love to not be alive anymore."  
  
"Julia, stop saying that-"  
  
"I don't deserve it!  I don't deserve life!  I killed him!  I KILLED HIM!"  I screamed those three shrill words louder and louder.  
  
He grabbed my arms and tried to hold me still, telling me to hush and not to be hysterical.  K meant well, but he had a really terrible bedside manner.  Oh, God, if only John were here instead of him!  He was such a kind soul, and so sympathetic, whereas K...  
  
"Would you please be quiet?" he hissed.  "Get a hold of yourself!  You didn't kill anyone!"  
  
"Yes, I did!" I sobbed, collapsing in on myself.  "I killed Freddie.  He's dead because of me.  He wouldn't have died if I'd-"  
  
"Julia, you don't know that!" he said.  "Look.  You didn't make his decisions for him.  He didn't have to do the things he did, live the way he lived or whatever he did that did him in- you did not force him to do those things!  He chose his way, just like you chose yours!  There was no other way it could have happened!"  
  
"But if I'd stayed-"  
  
"Julia, what's the point?  If you spend all day asking 'what if,' 'what if,' 'what if,' about every decision you make- constantly looking back, how do you expect to move forward?  You don't know what's ahead.  You know so much about the past, but the future- the future is yet to come!  The world hasn't ended yet!  What's happened has happened, the way it was supposed to all along.  It is NOT your fault.  If you spend the rest of your existence telling yourself it is, then yes, you might as well jump, because that's no kind of life at all."

He went to grab a tissue off the desk and gave it to me to dab my eyes.  I did so, then blew my nose.  I looked up at him through watery lenses. 

"K, you realize you're compromising your own alibi by saying these things to me, right?" I murmured with a sniff.  "It was VR, not time travel.  You're contradicting your whole story."

"Not my story.  Theirs."  K sighed.  "Besides, I'm not compromising anything unless I outright say T-Rod was anything but a VR machine.  And I am _not_ going to say that T-Rod was a time-travel machine- or, as Dr. Preus calls it, a prototype cross-continuum interface.  Because that's absolutely _not_ what it is."

I almost smiled, and took another bite of the bar.  "Why did you pick me, K?  You were saying something about that a minute ago."

K shrugged, smiling shyly.  "It's because I remembered."

I squinted.  "Remembered what?"

"You."

"Remembered me?"  I cocked my head.  "But how?"  
  


"When you walked up to Ledford last week, I knew I recognized you from somewhere.  I kept trying to place the face, but I knew I knew you- and that you had said something about twenty points.  'Two-zero.'  You did that with your hand, and it stuck with me for some reason.  So I- I chose you."

I gazed at him.  "You remember Vegas?"

He nodded, smiling.  "And here's the funny part.  I had no idea that was Freddie Mercury who was pretending to be Mark from Canada."

"Mark from Canada?"

"Mm-hm.  I don't remember the last name."

I stifled a laugh.  "That's okay."  

"But even when I went to see them play the Aladdin that year- Queen, I mean, first huge rock concert I ever saw- I had no clue that crazy guy in the diamond leotard thing jumping around all over the place- that that was Mark, your lover."

"We really were lovers, weren't we?"I looked down at my lap, trying to keep it together.  "Oh, Freddie.  My prince, please forgive me."

"So," K swallowed, "you _did_ sleep with him?"

"If you can call what we did 'sleeping,' then yes, I guess so."

He nodded.  "I thought so.  That certainly would explain what you're going through now."

"What do you mean?"

"Julia, I need you to take this," he instructed me, pulling out that same package Dr. Ledford had tried to hand off to me.  "You'll need it."

"K, I don't do that stuff-"

"Oh, for God's sake, would you relax?  It's not drugs!  I don't even do that anymore... very often."

I actually snorted a little laugh this time.  "So what is it, then?"

"I cannot verbally tell you, because that would blatantly contradict the VR story."

"Oh, good grief-"

"I know.  Thank God for loopholes," K remarked.  "But I suggest you open it now, so that you don't go home with a badly wrapped brown package under your arm."

"Now?"

"Go ahead.  I'll stand guard."  With that he got up and started watching at the little window in the door.

So I ripped open the lumpy parcel, and a fortune cookie fell out.

"Hey!" I picked the curved shell off the floor.  Rudy had said to open it once I got to where I was going; now seemed like a good a time as any.  So I broke it in half and pulled out the little slip, read my fortune:

_Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you:_

That's all it said.  On instinct I finished the rest of it to myself, "By now you shoulda somehow reali-"

And then I stopped.  What was a fortune cookie from 1977 doing, spouting lyrics from "Wonderwall"?  My thoughts rocketed back to what Rudy's letter had said about an Oasis reference.  Had Rudy planted this in it himself?  

But then, how would Rudy know about Oasis, an alternative band from the 1990s- IN 1977?

Thoroughly confused, I turned the slip over, expecting some kind of explanation, but I received none.  Just your basic line of lucky numbers: 1, 2, 10, 20, 27.  _Oh, great.  Big help.  What was the point of that, Rudy?_

Okay, that explained that- kind of.  But who was Danny?

"There's more," K coaxed from the door.

"I'm getting there," I muttered.  I upended the package, and two things fell out.  One was my ring (HURRAY!), which would have made my heart sing and tears of joy to fall down my cheeks, but I was too horrified by the other item to care.

"K, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" I shouted.

He sighed, hung his head.  "A hunch.  I could be wrong, but-"

"REALLY?" I screamed, not because I was disgusted by the prospect- but out of genuine fear.  "I - I can't be!  That's impossible!"

"Did either of you do anything preventative?" he asked.  "Before- uh- making out?"

"That's none of your business," I dodged, thereby answering him with a big fat "No".

"Then it's not impossible," he said.  "Take the test when you get home-"

"I can't be!  I - I just can't!  I'm not-"

"Julia, denial is not going to help you this time.  You're dizzy, you're throwing up, and you're uber-emotional- you can't run away from what that might mean.  I could be wrong!  But you- it's better that you know for certain, isn't it?"

Knees weakening again, I rose- slowly- from the desk, picking up my fortune, my ring, and the thing so horrifying I couldn't even look at it, and threw them in my bag.  The room seemed to lean to one side.  I grabbed the side of the desk, pushed myself up, made myself walk toward the door, K holding my elbow.

"Even if you are," he said softly, "you do have options."

"That doesn't help me," I croaked dryly.  

But inside, I was terrified. _I can't be pregnant. Freddie did not get me pregnant. Oh, God. OH, GOD, I CAN'T BE HAVING HIS BABY!_

"Julia," he said suddenly, "listen to me.  I owe you and Freddie a big one.  If it hadn't been for you two, I probably would never have gotten as far in life as I have.  You guys got me through a double major, which sent me onward to a Master's and then a Doctorate- I never would have considered that if not for you and he.  I basically owe you everything.  

"And so, I'm telling you now- if there is anything, anything at all, that you need, I want you to tell me, and I will help out as best I can.  I wish there was some way I could completely repay you, as I'm always going to be in your debt- but know that I am here to help.  You are not alone."

"I have Stuart, and I have you.  Three heads are better than one."  I looked down at my stomach and shivered.  "Make that four- possibly."

"It may not be anything except psychosomatic symptoms," K tried to comfort me.  "Just take the test, and go from there."

"Mm-hm," I sighed, making my way outside.  "K, I'm sorry for screaming at you."

"It's all right, if I was in your shoes, I'd scream too," he smiled.  "Can I walk you to your car?"

I shook my head.  "Mom is picking me up pretty soon, she didn't trust me to drive."

"Very well," he nodded.  "Good luck, then- hope to see you round the campus next semester!"

I swallowed and waved, then turned around and walked across the street, stronger now that I had eaten at least something.  I felt my hand naturally drift against my stomach, and I tried to feel for any telltale signs even though I knew it was still far too early to notice any change.

"Julia?" K shouted.

"Yes?" I called.

"Just remember: Dr. Christopher is a natural-born asshole."

"You think so, too, huh?" 

"Always have."

That made me smile.  "Merry Christmas, K."

"Merry Christmas- and happy birthday tomorrow!"

"Thank you!"  I put my hands in my pockets, tried to not be too freaked just yet.  Once I saw the results of the test, I'd know- and then I could melt down all over again, but in the quiet peace of my own room.

Before I went too much further, though, I reached back into my bag and pulled out the rose gold Vegas ring.  With a sad, yet defiant sigh, I slid it onto my finger.  

That was where it belonged, after all.


	84. The Mess I Made

I couldn't put it off any longer.

After picking my way through dinner and ardently assuring my parents that I felt much better now (a little white lie now and then never hurt anyone), I washed the dishes and started for my room.

"Don't forget your phone," Scott reminded me.

I whirled.  "It came in today?"

"Uh-huh," he said.  "Same kind as before?"

"Yup.  Exact same."

"You could have gotten an upgrade, you know," Scott pouted.  "You're phone's already a year old!"

"It doesn't make any difference, it's the same setup.  I remember the days when they didn't even have cell phones, or the Internet."

He frowned.  "How?"

"Life didn't begin in the nineties, Scott," I said simply.  

"Yours did!"

I made myself laugh at that, then disappeared into my bedroom and shut the door, phone tucked under my arm. 

Farnsworth, my conure, stopped gnawing on his cuttlebone and greeted me with half a phrase I'd been trying to teach him for a year.  "News, ev'un!"

"Good news, everyone!" I corrected him, rubbing his bright green belly.  "You'll get it one day, you're a smart bird."

"News, BIRD!" he squawked.  "Farnsie, BIRD!"

"Something like that," I mumbled.  I took him out of his cage and put him on my shoulder, where he hid in my hair and nibbled ferociously on my earlobe.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, I know I cheated on you with a cat, but that's no reason to eat my ear," I half-smiled.  

But I wasn't smiling for much longer.  I reached into my backpack and drew out the ultra-sensitive pregnancy test.  Taking a deep breath, I set Farnsworth back on top of his cage while I slipped quietly into the bathroom.  My stomach was wringing itself with anticipation.  This was just a precaution of course, it was so improbable, so unlikely.  But I had to find out.  

The box said it would take a few minutes for the result to appear, so I took the test into my room and laid it on a piece of wax paper on the window sill.  Perhaps I could have left it in the bathroom, but at this time I did not need Scott's confused inquiries or, heaven forbid, my parents' demands to know what this filthy thing was doing in their house.

So I set my mind on my new Magic Mirror.  I took it out of the package, about to insert the new SIM when I remembered the old SIM and SD I still had.  A few snaps and cracks, and I'd replaced the blanks with those of my old phone, the one Freddie had allegedly pulverized.  Then I plugged it in to charge the battery.  Hopefully the pictures had saved to the card and not to my phone itself.  

I wondered exactly what Freddie had done when he discovered I was gone.  Clearly he was livid, and had taken his rage out on my belongings, but what all had he felt?  Was he just angry that I had betrayed him?  Was he sad?  Was he relieved?  Did he miss me, or did my memory drown in the bottomless depths of his past?

_I think he got over me- and fast,_ I tried to tell myself, desperately grasping for my old, comforting cynicism.  _After all, he never mentioned me- no one did, in fact.  Freddie probably considered me just another flash-in-the-pan traitor- one that helped to send him over the edge, but again, I was likely only one of many factors.  I need to stop assigning myself so much importance.  Anyway, I'm sure seeing David that night helped to ease the pain of abandonment.  Maybe it's good to have backup lovers; that way, losing one doesn't seem so devastating.  There's always more where that came from._

Regardless of my thoughts and K's words, I still wanted to kill myself.  Perhaps I had not directly killed Freddie- but I had not lived up to my own promises, something for which I had condemned so many others around him.  I had pledged my loyalty, my love- and then the very next morning I left him.  

I was no better than Paul.  And that alone was enough reason to die.  

But I couldn't take my own life, if it meant taking another, blissfully innocent one in the process. Not only was that selfish; that was cruel.  So I had to be sure.

It had been five minutes; accurate results were promised after three.  Against my will, I stood up, and walked toward the window sill.  Across the hall I could hear Scott watching some _South Park_ rerun; I knew Cartman's squeaky, obscenity-ridden voice anywhere.  Somehow that didn't seem an appropriate soundtrack for the occasion, so I knelt to the box that never made it to Goodwill and pulled out one of my Queen albums- _A Day at the Races,_ Side B _,_ to be precise.  

Seconds later, "Somebody to Love" began playing- a song that reminded me immediately of something Freddie had whispered moments after we made love for the last time.  His voice ringing in my ears, I closed my eyes and immersed in the memory:

He was cradling me in his arms, kissing me tenderly while I lay quietly sighing beneath him, holding on with whatever strength I had left, dizzy with passion.  Then he drew back a little, and reached up his ringed hand to touch my mouth. Freddie had loved to do that, to just trace the edges of my lips with his long fingers.  

Freddie was so beautiful in that moment; I remember the morning sunlight was hitting his eyes in such a way that they seemed lighter- a warm, chocolate brown instead of their usual charcoal color, fringed by those long, thick black lashes- and the love in them was so sincere, so completely frank.  

At last he spoke.  "I suppose He listens, after all."

"Who does?" I whispered.

Freddie smiled.  "Your Boss.  A very generous Person indeed."

"What do you mean?"

With a little shrug, he replied, "I asked for somebody to love- but He did more than just send me that."

"He did?"

"He did.  He sent me one of His own."  Freddie pressed his face into my neck, and sighed.  "He sent me you."

I didn't have any words to answer with, except for a choked "Oh, my prince..." and for the next couple of minutes we simply lay there silently and let our hearts do the talking.  

Funny, how that sweet little exchange should come back to haunt me now.

"And I get down on my knees/ And I start to pray/ Till the tears run down from my eyes, Lord!/ Somebody/ ooo, Somebody/ Can't anybody find me/ Somebody to love?"

I forced myself to walk back to the window.  I had to face the music (and the truth, for those who want to be cute about it).  

At last I took a deep breath.  _Now or never, me._

I looked. And for a split second my heart forgot to beat.

I stared at the test for a long, long while, until finally I stood, wrapped the little plastic menace in tissues, and threw it away.  I lay carefully back against the bed, hands falling across my stomach as I watched the ceiling fan blades revolve over my head.  Farnsworth started preening his green and red feathers, shook the dust out of them. It was cold in the room, I didn't need to have the fan going, but I didn't get up to turn it off.  I scarcely noticed anything at that moment except for the image of two pink lines flickering behind my eyelids, like the spots that block your sight after looking too long at the sun.  

In a quiet, frightened voice, I murmured two words I never thought I would say as an unmarried, twenty-year-old college student.  

Then I bolted to the bathroom to throw up half my supper.

***********************************************************************************

It was nearly midnight, and most everyone else had gone to sleep. Everyone but me.

I sat alone on the roof, gazing upward, pretending to count the millions of cold white pinpricks speckling the darkness above me while I strummed my guitar and made soft vapors on the air with every breath. My wedding ring was wrapped round my finger. And on occasion a quiet little drop of salt water trickled down my nose, and the lump in my throat thickened so that I couldn't sing for a verse or two.

I will never forget that cold, quiet night. Because to me, it marked an official end to the life I had planned. The life I had hoped for, one that kept surprises to a minimum, maintained along the straight and narrow, was gone, with no hope for return. I was turning back the last page in this chapter of my life. A new chapter lay in wait with the rising of the morning sun- a chapter I had not expected, or desired.

I would only be able to hide my condition for so long.  Another four months, maybe, at most.  And once my parents knew, I would have to start finding my own way.  They had warned me as much years ago, shortly after we had had the "talk."  

Oh, how drastically my world had changed in a matter of weeks- how drastically even I had changed. Once I was someone whose sole focus was to get through life without stepping on any trip wires- an ordinary, uncomplicated, unattached girl, defined by my own inexperience yet savvy enough to tell the difference between a sheep and a wolf in sheep's clothing. My parents had raised me well, and raised me right. I was their pride and joy, the image of wholesomeness with a rich, promising future- something they could truly be proud of.

But then, Freddie happened. The one thing that could get to me, got to me. My Achilles heel, my obsession, my kryptonite- he changed my life forever. As Woody Allen once put it,"If you want to make God laugh, tell Him about your plans." And where I was concerned, the Almighty had something else in mind.

And now I was almost two weeks pregnant. 

With Freddie's baby.

And I couldn't even tell him. Forty years and an ocean separated us. And T-Rod had been removed from the university, transported to some unknown location.

I put the guitar down against a crevice on the roof and tucked up into a ball.  Perhaps, it was better this way. I didn't know what Freddie might have done, if I'd stayed and had to tell him I was pregnant. Not to say he would have turned me out onto the street, Freddie would never have done that. But things most certainly would have cooled on his end. For playful jokes and throwaway remarks aside, Freddie had never wanted kids; if he did, he would have let Mary have his child. She had suggested it, after all, and he turned her down.

But no, that honor had been saved for me.  A lonely honor, this, to bear his child and raise it by myself, virtually disowned by my own parents, perhaps having to quit school just to make the money to support it.  The life for which I had left my prince was shattering before my very eyes.  I could see it now: Julia Samuels, the new black sheep of the family, right alongside dear Cousin Roxie and her mystery blight upon the Brazzi reputation.

_God, please, help us,_ I prayed _.  We're all alone down here._

The kid's heart wasn't even beating yet and I was already using the collective "we."

Suddenly I needed to hear Freddie speak, but not in the sense of an interview, not that calculated, offhand manner he used while he had a microphone pinned to his shirt. I wanted the voice he used when we were alone. Maybe I was desperate, and yes, I knew it would hurt, but I didn't care. I needed this.

I picked my new phone out of my pocket and turned it on.  _Please tell me the pictures saved to the card and not the Android._

But to my dismay, I found the SD card was completely void of photos and music.  The only things that had saved to it were two videos- one that lasted for half a minute, and the other which all by itself had consumed the rest of the entire card's memory.  Judging by the dark, shadowy thumbnails, they looked like two videos that had happened because I sat down on my phone the wrong way.

All the same, I touched the shorter one first, fingers crossed.

The image was kind of dark, but I could hear the music just fine.  "There's No Getting Over Me" blasted out of the speaker, as thought the phone itself was making the music mid-videotape.  At once I brightened the screen.  Now I could see.  It was me in a white dress, dancing around in the back of a souped-up car while someone else held the camera and snickered to himself.  

In spite of myself, I gasped and slapped a hand over my mouth. It was the video Freddie had taken on our last night together.  So- what was this other, longer one?

After I tortured myself with the whole clip of Freddie and me in the Rolls Royce, I played the second - all twenty-five minutes of it.

To anyone else, it would have been twenty-five minutes utterly wasted.  Freddie had apparently snuck my phone out of the flat before heading to Wessex- and decided to film the whole trip there.  At least, that was his original idea, until he discovered the reverse camera, which captured the five seconds he spent checking for any food in his teeth, a pleasant chitchat with Rudy about his driver's own family (or, more accurately, his lack thereof), and a little vocal practice.

But it was the last five minutes that absolutely killed me- and yet, I couldn't stop watching it.  I just kept watch the final five minutes over and over again, wishing more and more every time that I had never been born.

God, he was so pretty, those sweet sculpted features of his, the lips that had kissed me countless times now split in a warm, happy grin under the shining dark eyes.  It tore me in two.  I've long since taken the card out of my phone and packed it away with the rest of my memorabilia of Freddie, but I know every word of the last five minutes by heart.

For in those five minutes, Freddie decided to send me a rather nervous, bashful little message.

"Hello, Julia," he said.  "You'll see this some day, I know, the way you keep fooling around with this thing.  [sigh]  You know, it's, um, it's funny how I can sort of say these things a lot more, um, more boldly when you aren't around- wait, no, that's not the right thing to- oh, f---.  In that case, it's good I'm not face-to-face with you about this, because God knows I'd f--- it up somehow.  I'd find a way. Um- [Freddie looked up toward Rudy] Remember, Rudy, not a word about this to her, okay? [Rudy's muffled "Yes, Freddie"]  Want her to find out in due time.  Anyway.  

"Okay, look.  Do you remember asking me what made me start loving you?  Good.  Because I'm going to tell you, although it's not the most romantic story in the world.  It's just-  It was at the Heatwave, and you probably don't remember this but- you were a goner.  To the point that you were actually, you know, being sick and I had to follow you in and make sure you didn't- you were having a sort of hard time and- anyway, you did eventually settle down, but- it's what you said to me right after you stopped.

"We were alone in the WC, and I was dabbing a wet towel on your face to try to cool you off a bit.  Then all of a sudden you opened your eyes and you smiled at me, your face all hot and flushed, and you said this to me.  You whispered, 'Thank God for you, my darling,' and then you just kind of passed out.  You leaned forward against me and your dead weight knocked me to the floor, your arms were around my neck.  And I didn't get mad at all, I just- I just smiled too.

"It's not very romantic, like I said- but that's when I believe I, quite literally, started to fall in love with you.  I even had the bruise on the face to prove it.  

"So you see, Julia- Rudy, how close are we?  A couple more minutes?  Right, I'll try and wrap this up then.  It's like I told you, darling, falling in love just kind of happens in places we don't expect.  But it was that moment I realized first, that I didn't just, wasn't just attracted to you.  I also loved just taking care of you.  Everyone else I've sort of fallen in love with sort of has to look after me- [to himself] which reminds me, I'm going to have to go over what I want to say to David. Certainly he'll understand, this has been a long time coming anyway.  [then to the camera]  You see, I'm actually breaking it off with him tonight, so- let's just say I'll be especially happy to see you later [smile and a chuckle]."

_Oh God_ , I thought to myself in horror.  _Oh, God, oh, God, I was wrong.  OH GOD._ But he still wasn't finished.

"You're such a lovely person to be around, my dear- you make me so very happy and I love doing things to make you happy too. Sometimes the plans I make don't work out, but- somehow that's all the more fun. I can't explain it. You do something wonderful to me, it's like- it's like I can actually relax. Not that I couldn't relax before, because I could, it's just different. It's like- it's like a peace inside. I'm just happy, and I tell you, it's a strange, beautiful feeling."

Freddie went on, "And I know I've- there have been many occasions where I've acted sort of less than princely, but - but I need you to know that I... I love you, darling.  I don't think you have any idea how much I really do love you, but it's- it's a lot."

He paused there, and just smiled before the Rolls rocked to a final halt, which made him continue even as he was getting out of the car and walking to the studio.

"Uh-oh, here we go.  So really my point is- trust me, Julia.  We've barely just started, and I've got such marvelous plans for us.  Just give us a chance!  My God, we've only officially been lovers for a day and a half.  Give us a little time- give me a little time.  You'll see.  I've taught you to be a bad girl- now it's your turn to teach me to be a nice- um, nic _er_ man.  I'm ready to learn whenever you're ready to show me."  He winked.

"Now, my dear, I've got to go to work, so I hope this wasn't too awkward a thing to watch {bashful giggle], but um- have a nice day, and I'll see you tonight."  He looked to the side, then pressed a quick kiss against the screen, ending at last with a "Love you!" and a wave.

And that was that.

It was half-past one by the time I clambered down from the roof with my guitar and phone in hand, tears quietly streaming down my cheeks with no sign of ceasing anytime soon.  

All I wanted to do was save my grades.  In that, I had succeeded- but with an immeasurable, irreversible cost.  I never intended such carnage- but in the end, I suppose it's not what's intended to happen, it's what actually happens. 

Only two weeks.  Fourteen days that upended the entire universe. One fortnight.

And look what had happened.  I was pregnant and alone, with God as my sole stronghold and judge combined.  My world, Freddie's life, and our love lay crushed and broken in my wake.

This was the mess I made.

******************************************************************************************

I cried myself to sleep that night.  I'd never done that before; there had never been a reason to until recently.  I had heard that Freddie cried himself to sleep many times when he was a boy at boarding school.  He had always felt so alone, so abandoned, even from childhood.  That one fact alone explained so much about him.  I could never hope to understand the feeling fully, since he lived with it all his life and only now was I truly tasting despair.  But now I had a much better idea what that could do to a man's soul.

But even with the greatest despairs, comes a thin ray of hope.

That night, I dreamed something I had not dreamed before, and have not dreamed since.  But it stays with me:

I was standing alone at the cliffs, the dark red miasma fading away and returning to the lighter magenta hue.  Freddie had disappeared into the bottomless ravine, and the world no longer shook.  I held the Relic in my shaking hand, going mad in the deathly silence.  I didn't jump in after him, as much as I wanted to.  My feet simply wouldn't permit me the leap.  

Finally I screamed and threw the Relic down into the ravine, then turned away and wept, crying so hard I fell to my knees upon the rocky earth.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed.  "My prince, my beautiful prince, I'm so sorry..."

I was so lost in my own grief I didn't notice the shadow falling over me.  After a few minutes, I felt a hand descend upon my bare back, which slipped down further and became two strong arms wrapping comfortingly around me, fingers gently running through my hair.  On instinct I clung to this person, burying my face in their neck, which smelled like cologne, cigarettes, and licorice-

My eyes snapped open, lifted to my comforter's face.  I opened my mouth, but no words came.  All I could do was stare right back into the deep, smiling black eyes gazing down into mine.  

Freddie's appearance startled me- not because he still wasn't wearing any clothes, I expected that.  But he looked older- in his mid to late thirties, at least, judging by the cropped hair and that trademark mustache.  In my eyes, however, he was even more beautiful than before.

I swallowed, and tried again to speak, but all I could muster was a soft, disbelieving "Freddie-?"

Then he pulled back. The expression in the black gems turned tragic. He disengaged my arms from around him, and traced my lips. And he turned around, and started walking the other way.

"Freddie, wait!" I called thickly, scrambling to my feet.  "Don't leave me!"

He hesitated long enough for me to fall to my knees in front of him.  Just as he had done the night of the dinner party, I bent down and kissed his feet, my hot tears falling freely upon the tops.  I felt him tugging me back upright, and he held me close against his chest, which shook a little as he, too, now shed a few tears.

"My prince, I'm begging you, please forgive me," I gasped.  "I love you, I didn't mean for any of that to hap-"

I might have said more, but he laid a finger against my lips, then, very gently, as though I were made of glass, he took my face in his hands, and kissed me. Overcome with emotion, I kissed him back, holding him as close as I could. 

Eventually, Freddie's hold on me loosened, and he drew back one more time.  I didn't want him to go; I knew this was a dream, but I didn't care, I needed him, I couldn't go on without him.  

At last he opened his mouth to speak- and his words struck a frighteningly familiar chord.

With a sigh, he told me, "Do not lose hope.  It doesn't end today, it doesn't end tomorrow.  Just remember what I told you."  He stroked my cheek.  "There's always a plan."

I wanted to ask why Rudy's words were coming out of Freddie's mouth, among so many other things I wanted to say, but once more I had no words.  

Then he looked down, put his hand on my middle and kept it there for a moment before glancing back up, and with a smile, finally requesting, "Say hello to Danny for me."

My throat went dry as I numbly nodded.  "I will."

Freddie said no more.  At last he took his hand away, leaned forward, and Eskimo-kissed me.  And just as he began to pull away-

"Walk this WAY/ Walk this WAY/ Walk this WAY-"

Frantically I sat upright, looked around, but I was back in my bedroom, with my cell's ringtone crunching away on the night stand.  _It is 3 AM_ , I thought to myself, wiping my face.  _Why is anybody calling me at 3 AM on my birthday?_

All the same, I reached for the phone and squinted at the screen.  I didn't know anyone with a number that had a "44" in front.  But I answered it anyway.  This had to be good.

"Mmmello?" I murmured through a yawn.

Silence on the other end.

"Hello?  Who's there?"

Another long pause, and then I heard a "...Hello?"

"Hi.  To whom am I speaking?"

"Uh... I'm calling for, um... Miss Samuels...?"

My blood chilled.  The voice was nasal- and clipped.  And very British.  But I dared not assume.  "I am she.  Julia Samuels is my name, and this is...?"

The hesitance in the voice gave way to awe.  "Julia. Oh- oh, my God."

"Mister, I'm not sure I-"

"Julia, it's me!  Remember?"

I couldn't stand it anymore.  "...Is... Your name isn't John, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is!"  He sounded ready to burst.

"And your last name- couldn't possibly be Deacon..."

"But it can!  And it is!"

I closed my eyes, covered my mouth, tried to remember to breathe.  "Deacy, is that you?"

"YES!" he cried.  "Oh, my GOD, it worked!"

"What did?"

"The number!  The number you gave me!  I almost thought I'd missed the deadline, but I remembered you Yanks write the date backwards, so I-"

"You still have that picture?" I bit my fingers to keep from screaming with newfound joy. 

"I do!  I do!  Had it all these years stuck in a photo album, found it a week ago- oh, God, Julia, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice!"

"I can't believe you remembered!  I almost didn't!"

"Well, I may be old, but I'm not senile.  My mind isn't all gone yet," he quipped.

"Oh, John..." I gasped, hand rubbing my stomach.  "There's so much I have to tell you... but it's kind of late, I don't want to keep you up-"

"Julia, it's nine in the morning here- oh.  Bollocks.  I forgot.  You're all the way over there, what is it, two, three?"

"I don't mind staying up all night if it means I'm talking to you," I declared.  My heart, so deeply drowned in its own sorrow, seemed to lift a little with every moment I spent hearing John's older but still sweet voice.  "The only one it might possibly bother is Danny, but he'll be okay."

"Oh, good, then, I'll-" he checked himself.  "Who's Danny?"

"The baby."  And from that moment on, that became the little nipper's name.  

"Whose baby?"

"Mine."

I could almost hear his jaw drop.  "What?"

I fluffed the pillow behind me and sat back against it.  "John, you and I have forty years to go over.  I'm ready if you are."

John was still stuck on the last thing I said.  "What's this about you and a baby?"

I rubbed my stomach again.  It would be a long time before I felt anything, but I knew Danny was there, just like God was there, and John, and K... and that was just for starters.

Maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.

"You'd better get comfortable, Deaks," I said.  "This will take a while..."


	85. Be Not Gone...

All of this happened a little over a year ago. 

And I swear to God, every single word of it is true. 

You might think I'm absolutely mad.  You might read this entire story and say aloud, "What kind of cockamamie books are they letting these weirdos put out these days?"  I wouldn't blame you if you do.

Because some days, yes, I would agree with you.  It has not been - and will not ever be- easy.  Not to say I have suffered, because there are so many other people in this world who have endured much more than I with less to support them, and they have lived to tell inspiring tales.  But as the preceding chapters have demonstrated, I'm not that strong. The only reason I'm still standing is due to all the invaluable help I've had the past year, and especially the last six months.  Perhaps I have gone crazy.  Maybe this book, in truth, is merely a testament to the onset of unadulterated madness. 

I admit it, every now and then, even I squint at the memories I carry in the back of my mind, and say aloud, "No, that didn't honestly happen.  That's crazy." 

But wouldn't you?  As real and life-changing as those two weeks were, sometimes they just strike me as too far-fetched to discuss with anyone that isn't John, Veronica, or K.  It's one thing to write down and publish; I don't have to look you, the reader, in the face, and shrug awkwardly.  Even with Stuart Preus, the now-renowned Princeton physicist who calls me at least once a week to check in with how I'm holding up these days, I have kept mum about nearly everything that happened to me.

All I can really know for certain is now....

And now, I am twenty-one years old. 

I sit here in my personal nook of the lovely London house that I have called home for about the past six months.  I have to leave for work pretty soon; money for school must be made _some_ how, and I won't be doing it by going blind in front of the computer.  With one hand I'm typing the last few sentences of a big report that's due tomorrow in my online college courses- and with the other, I'm holding the most beautiful little baby in the world against my chest while he works away at his supper. 

"Finished!" I exclaim, then look down at the pair of big curious eyes staring up at me and say, "I'd read you my report if it wasn't such boring, dry tripe.  You understand, don't you?"

All he does is blink, still sucking hungrily. I can't help but smile and kiss the top of his little head. My son has the most wonderful appetite, it makes me so happy.  His name is Danny, although his birth certificate brands him officially as John Daniel Samuels.  He was born almost four months ago on the eighth of September, and is the joy of his godparents, and the light of my life.

Ah, speaking of his godparents, here they come now.  I can hear their footsteps tread up the stairs.

Two knocks, and I hear her say, "Are you prepared to surrender him yet?"

  
"Maybe another minute, he's almost done eating," I call back, and then, addressing Danny, who's finally full, "As for you, I'm sorry I only got to read you one of your books today, I'll make it up to you tomorrow.  That's my day off, we'll read three at least, plus a few new ones I bought.  How's that sound?"

With a high-pitched squeal, he reaches up one chubby little hand and pats it against my lips while I'm talking.  For some reason that reminds me.  "Oh, yes, I almost forgot!  Better sing now, you'll be fast asleep when I get home tonight."

It's kind of a ritual of ours; Danny gets a Queen song every day.  Sometimes I'll sing it, sometimes I'll play it, sometimes there won't be any music at all and I simply play the audio of my old smart phone video, so that the boy at least knows the sound of his daddy's voice.  So tonight, I pull my shirt back down and walk around the bedroom, bouncing Danny gently against my shoulder while I sing him a very special little song, one I played for him even before he was born.

"Hear my song/ Still think of me the way you've come to think of me," I sing softly.  "The nights grow long/ but dreams live on./ Just close your pretty eyes and you can be with me. /Dream on..."

I don't know if he understands a word I'm singing; he probably doesn't, especially the Japanese part.  But somehow, he seems to listen a little closer whenever I sing the "Teo torriatte konomama a iko" section.  Maybe I'm imagining things...

"Don't you work fairly soon?" Now John's calling through the door.

I roll my eyes.  "John, I'll hand him over in two minutes, I promise!"

"I just don't want you to be late again, you said they got quite miffed last time."

A likely story.  It's true, John and Veronica are most certainly not lacking in children or grandchildren, but it doesn't seem to matter. In fact, I doubt if there is any other man in this world as insane about his godson as John is about Danny.  Of course, it doesn't help that John clearly treasures Danny as Freddie's only child, the miraculous last living vestige of his friend and band mate- or that the boy is directly named after him.  
  
I hoist Danny up more comfortably in my arms (he gets bigger every day, I swear), and open the door, saying, "All right, got the sack of potatoes right here, for whoever wants him."

"Oh, do you have to call him that?" Veronica laughs.

"What of it?  He's certainly as heavy as one," I smile, tapping his little nose.  "Way cuter, though."

"Gamamamah..." Danny babbles back, sticking his finger in his mouth.

"Give the little nipper here," John grins. "Haven't seen him all day."

I just look at him.  "You mean, besides at breakfast, and lunch, and tea, and this afternoon when you insisted on taking him for a walk-"

"Yeah, see? Scarcely saw the lad.  Come on, hand him over." 

I arch my brow and wait.  John adds quickly, smiling, "Oh, sorry.  Hand him over, if you please."

"Ah, there we go," I sigh in rapture.  "He's all yours, Deacy." 

With that, I plop Danny into the man's arms.  Danny grins again; he loves the Deacons so much, they're like the best kind of doting grandparents.  As John holds the boy and looks him over, a certain kind of awe comes across his face.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Veronica asks.  She can see it, too.

John shakes his head solemnly.  "Nothing, just... I still can't believe he's real.  He looks- so much like him, Ron.  Do you see it?"

"Takes after his daddy more every day," she nods, looking at me, "but he's still going to look mostly like you.  First boys tend to do that, resemble their mums; Robert was just the same way."

I watch John with the boy, and feel Veronica's hand gently grip my shoulder.  There's a roof over my head, and a means for me to save money till I have the wherewithal to return to the States and set out independently into the world.  A year ago, I was living day to day in sheer terror, the doors shutting on me at every turn.  What a sweet situation I have at the moment.  And I think to myself, _Thank God for friends, and open windows._

"I know I've said this before," I murmur after a moment, pulling my coat on, "but I- I can't tell you how grateful I am to have you two in my life- in our lives.  I don't know where I'd be now if not for you."  
  
John looks up from bouncing Danny gently on his knee.  "And thank you for letting us sort of- intervene, as well."

I feel my face heat up.  "I love you guys." 

The blood rises up in John's face.  "Well, uh- thank you.  And- I mean, you know how fond we are of you as well.  Both of you."

Veronica shakes her head.  "He means, we love you too."

John nods shyly, and the four of us stand there awkwardly a few seconds until I sigh and whisper, "I'd better head off to work now."

"Do you need one of us to drive?" Veronica offers.

"Oh, no, it's okay.  I've called a cab."

I lean over to kiss the top of Danny's head again.  He reaches for me, grabs a lock of my hair in his fist and holds on.  With a smile, I unwrap the fat fingers from around it, and assure him I'll be back tonight, blowing one raspberry against his stomach.  Like always, he leans forward and hides his face in John's neck, peeping back once to show me he's smiling contentedly.

And I cover my mouth and try not to become emotional all over again before trotting out the door.

It shouldn't surprise me anymore. Danny's a happy baby, and he smiles all the time. But the sight of it always gives me a terrible jolt. For I know that open, friendly smile.

I've seen it before, on the face of my prince.

It's quite obvious who Danny's father is. All you have to do is look at him. At first blush, he resembles me more; his nose, mouth, coloring, perhaps even the shape of the face- all those belong to me. But it's there. If you look a little closer,and note the elvish ears that stick out just a little; the subtle widow's peak where his dark, soft hair grows; the creases around his mouth that form whenever his lips draw up in this adorably impish grin.

But even if those features slip past you, there's no mistaking the eyes. Good God. It's almost scary, how similar they are to Freddie's, especially when he was that age. The color, the shape, their very expression...

I come back down to Earth suddenly, and find I'm still standing outside their door, fiddling nervously with my ring.  The cab is coming round the corner; now's a good time to come closer and meet it halfway.  But I'm still thinking.  Winter nights are meant for introspection, especially this one.

Brian and Roger have no idea that Danny exists. The Deacons and I decided early on to maintain the vow of silence with them. Were we to alert the remaining members of Queen, it would have been unwise. For the only thing worse than Brian and Roger ignoring my story would be that it actually were to go public- and I have no wish to be branded worldwide as the demented sicko who claims a dead rock icon had fathered this child, born twenty-seven years after he took his final breath.

Mary also knows nothing about Danny. I can think of no reason to tell her in the first place. I mean, how would you even go about telling her something like that? I, Freddie's ex-lover, approaching Freddie's closest friend (and one-time lover) and throwing it in her face that I had had his baby and she hadn't? No. That would be cruel.

Perhaps the only person I fight with telling is his sister, Kashmira Cooke. I haven't paid a call on her yet, though Veronica keeps saying I should at least notify the woman that she now has a tiny young nephew. I'm still not sure what to do about that.  I don't know if I want to take that risk, a fifty-fifty shot between being believed- or being full-on rejected, the door slammed shut in my face.

All the same, it would be nice if Danny had a relationship with some of his actual blood-related family aside of just me.  He has his godparents the Deacons, and me his mother.  And as of right now, that's it.  My parents have not held or even seen my little boy face-to-face yet. 

(When I finally broke down and told them I was pregnant, they tearfully did as they had promised they would, marking the beginning of three hellish months making it alone- but that's another long, drawn-out story all by itself. Suffice it to say, I came across the pond to visit the Deacons at their request and expense when I was seven months along- and wound up staying under the same circumstances.)

But even more than that- more than anything else, really- I wish he were here.  And that's the whitewashed, polite description.  To be more accurate about my feelings, I will simply say this:

My God, I would give anything and everything just for one more day, just one last time to hear him speak, to see and touch him, to hold him close, to introduce him to Danny, and show him that we really could make beautiful babies.

Not a day passes that I don't wonder what might have happened to us, had I stayed with him; not a day passes that I don't wish I had stayed after all.  But I don't dwell on these thoughts for long.  They keep coming, but I never let them linger long.  Why should I? 

For if there is one thing I have learned, it's that Time is fixed; there's not one thing that happens that was not predestined to happen.  Therein lies the paradox.  Of course, we have free will to a point, in that we are able to live our lives, choose not to fall into despair whenever things take a turn for the worse- when we decide to make whatever short time that is allotted us on this Earth count for something.  But simultaneously, there's nothing that happens that isn't supposed to happen.  One thing leads to another, and all our actions hinge on the actions of others.  K believed that then, and I believe it now. 

But all that means is, even when the seas rage and rise, we still have to put our heads down and go for it. I've tried running, I've tried hiding. The only way to face Life is just that: face it, meet it in the air.  That's how Freddie would do it.

I live for the day when I finally have my answers, and I see for myself why it had to be Freddie, why it had to be me, why these two worlds had to collide- and why we had to be such stupid idiots and fall in love. Till then, I'm content to live sunrise to sunset, planning for the future but still willing to roll with the changes.

I could conclude this chapter now with a "The End," in the typical style of storywriters.  However, that would not only be abrupt, but inaccurate.

Because nothing has ended.  Everything has only just begun to unfold.

Don't ask me how I know this, because I don't.  But I can feel it.

I feel a stirring deep down- a stir of hope.  The hope that while this particular story I've just laid out for you may be coming to an end, our ultimate story still has yet to open up and be read.  The worst in our lives can be turned around on itself and transformed into something truly wonderful.

It's this one truth I cling to, whenever the earth begins to quake under my feet, and at times even split open and send my hopes and dreams adrift.  The mysterious Rudy's words ring in my head, loudly and continuously, like a mantra:

There's a plan. 

And I can only hope and pray, that somewhere, somehow in this plan, Freddie might find that he indeed goes on, not only in the sense of a musical legacy, but in the sense of his very flesh and blood.

Sitting here in the back of the cab, I quietly resume the song I was singing to Danny- a song that in itself doesn't ever end.

_When I'm gone,  
They'll say we're all fools,_  
 _And we don't understand._  
 _But oh, be strong._  
 _Don't turn your heart._  
 _You're all,_  
 _We're all,_  
 _For all,_  
 _For always..._  
  
_Let us cling together_  
 _As the years go by,_  
 _Oh, my love, my love._  
 _In the quiet of the night,_  
 _Let our candle always burn-_  
 _Let us never lose the lessons we have learned..._

I do not claim to be Freddie's greatest, most faithful friend. I do not claim to be the one true love of his life. But I do know that I, Julia Samuels, was indeed once his friend- and that he once loved me. In my mind, to be able to call those two things the undisputed truth is the greatest of blessings.

For I still love my prince- and I know I always will. Because love, real love, is eternal.

I could feel no other way.

**_  
-Julia Christine Samuels_  
January 20, 2019**


	86. Author's Message

**Sal here!  
**

**First of all, I would just like to say a great big loud "THANK YOU" to all the readers of my story.  If you enjoyed this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it, I consider that a huge success.  I also have to thank all the very sweet ones who left comments and clicked the 'Kudos' button.  The feedback is one of the reasons I kept going with this story.  I love hearing your theories and words of encouragement, they keep the fires burning.**

**Now!  Let's get down to the heart of the matter.**

**I have heard a few people make noises about wanting a sequel, especially in the last few chapters. Show of hands, who wants one?  (That's your cue, my friends.)  
**

**Alas, I'm thinking I just want a break from this story, so I'm just going to let the lack of resolution be the final note, and forget all about whether Julia and Freddie meet again, whether Danny gets to meet his father, whether this fragmented little family shall ever know true togetherness- I think I'm just going to forget about it.  
**

**No sequel.  Sorry, folks.  
**

**(I'm kidding.  I don't mean it.  That was a joke.  Put the pitchforks down.)  
**

**Actually, I've already begun the sequel, entitled _Time Passages,_ on another platform.  If you are interested in checking it out, you can find it on Wattpad under my username (the same one as I use here, @sallyjay4) or simply by searching for it by title.  Just wanted you to know, this story doesn't have to end here, and it doesn't.  I probably won't post the sequel here till it's complete, so, just an FYI.  It's there if you are curious. ;)  
**

**As for this story itself, I did want to make mention of a few things I feel are necessary to draw attention to:**

**A)  Much of this story I tried to keep as accurate as possible as far as the events and characters are concerned.  When I began this book, I had no idea which cats Freddie had in 1977, or how many, so I kind of winged it there.  But the _Starship_ actually was grounded in the States in 1977 due to engine trouble- and John Sebastian really did play in Central Park on Friday, July 8, at the Dr Pepper Music Festival.  And _Star Wars_ really was playing at Loews.  And Tom Jones really did have a gig (I think) at Caesar's Palace... I could go on, but I'd bore myself and you.  
**

**B)  Portrayals of the real life people involved are based on interviews, and plain old inductive reasoning.  Nobody is really the bad guy in this story (except Paul, boo on Paul, ha ha ha).  While she is not my most favorite person in the world, I respect Mary for all she meant to Freddie- more than I have for people like Jim Hutton or Barbara Valentin, whom I consider (TRIGGER ALERT) to be untrustworthy sources of information.  Not to say Jim is a liar, or unimportant, I'm not implying that at all, but I think it says a lot, how Mary has kept mostly silent, while Mr. Hutton it seemed couldn't get to a publisher fast enough.  I hope Jim and Barbara rest in peace, and I wish no ill will toward all the other folks with stories to tell.  But I take everything they say with a huge grain of salt.  Facts concerning much of Freddie's life are shaky at best.  Everybody's got something to gain by them.  
**

**C) A couple of people were triggered by the chapter "Monstrous Tempers," in the way I wrote Freddie's wrath, saying Freddie would never have behaved that way.  If you're offended, I apologize, my intent was not to trigger anybody. But Freddie himself said he could be a real ogre if he felt someone had betrayed him, could be "very hard to live with."  It's in a 1985 David Wigg interview.  Look it up.  I merely took those words and ran with them.  
**

**The point is, we can't know for certain.  He was a private person with a different personality depending on who you're talking to.The general consensus is that Freddie had a stunningly creative mind and a dry, very keen sense of humor- sometimes raunchy, sometimes a little dark, occasionally self-deprecating.  He was generous, kind, goofy, and fun to be around- and at the same time waspish, moody, lonely, and unhappy.  I filled in the rest of the blanks myself.  Hopefully they were believable.  
**

**D) To my knowledge, there is no one named Julia Samuels or Eve Dubroc that randomly stumbled into Freddie's life and served as a very brief friend and lover.  To my knowledge.**

**For once again, we don't know, do we?  In that song, the word "Jealousy" does indeed sound like Lennon's "Julia," and it works:**

_Julia, look at me now,_  
_Julia, you got me somehow,_  
_You gave me no warning,_  
_Took me by surprise._  
_Julia, you led me on._  
_You couldn't lose you couldn't fail,_  
_You had suspicion on my trail..._

_Julia, you tripped me up,_  
_Julia, you brought me down._  
_You bring me sorrow,_  
_You cause me pain._  
_Julia, when will you let go?_  
  
**Curiouser and curiouser. ;)  
**

**Anyway, I just wanted to say all that, and to thank you for your support and attention.  
**

**This story has been fun.**

**-Sally Jay, The Girl From Number Four**

_You can't turn back the clock,_  
_You can't turn back the time._  
_Ain't that a shame?_  
**-Queen, "These are the Days of Our Lives"**

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stuck Inside A Time Frame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954557) by [mattsmercury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsmercury/pseuds/mattsmercury)




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